The Witch That Time Forgot
by nyxblack
Summary: Despite their new status as the heroes of the wizarding world Hermione and Newt can't seem to stay out of trouble. The fates aren't yet done with the pair as their adventure continues in the sequel to 'The Witch Bound by Fate. (Spoilers and such ahead i'm sure.)
1. A Sliver of Light

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter on... oops! Some changes have been made from this chapter on. Just something to keep in mind going forward!

* * *

It had been two months since they disembarked from the New York harbour, boarding a ship bound for Britain.

Two months later and a semblance of normality had finally begun to return to Hermione and Newt's life. Two months... and the guilt of leaching Newt's kindness was tearing at the edges of Hermione's mind.

__No Money. No Job. No place to call all my own. __Hermione thinks with a sigh as she rereads the same portion of her book once more, unable to concentrate fully on the task at hand.

__It's not all bad, though. __She relents. Her eyes glance over to Newt, working on the final edit of his manuscript at the small wooden desk shoved against one of the living rooms walls. Strong shoulders clothed in a white button down, his exposed forearms flexing as he drags his quill across the parchment rolled out before him. Exposed skin, deliciously freckled and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. __Not bad at all.__

Hermione's mouth runs dry. Shaking her head as she attempts to focus on the task at hand once more, quickly failing as the words on the page begins to swim. Intelligent brown eyes glaze over, as she gets lost in her thoughts. The dim, lighting within the room eases her trip down memory lane.

There was no one waiting to meet them upon their arrival in Britain. Hermione, in particular, had been convinced that upon their docking an entire task force of Aurors and Ministry officials would be there to bring her and Newt in for questioning. Hermione certainly knew how to make an impression, and now she had caught the attention of the entire wizarding world, again. All thanks to the incident with Grindelwald and their adventures in New York.

Hermione sighs again, smoothing her ink-stained fingers over the pages of the book held in her lap, hardly registering the way the aged pages seem to pull at her skin. The muffled noises from the creatures in the basement below break the silence that seems to permeate the room.

_Small blessings. _She thinks. A small smile pulls at her lips, taking in Newt's tall, firm frame and the way his flushed cheeks look in the light. His freckled hand runs through his hair as he mumbles quietly to himself, fully immersed in his work.

Neither Hermione nor Newt cared much for their new status as the current heroes of the Wizarding world. That combined with the Ministry's silence and lack of presence since their arrival was disquieting, to say the least. Every day, a foreboding feeling would tickle the edges of her very being, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, dreading the day a task force of Aurors would storm into Newt's apartment and take them both in.

An audible sigh escapes Hermione's lips. Poppy clacks quietly in her ear, hoping to soothe her frayed nerves. The corners of her lips twitch into a gentle smile, recalling the conversation the two had just as they were entering British waters.

* * *

_"Listen," Newt begins, pausing as if unsure of how best to continue. "You need a place to live, and I have a small home—"_

_Instinctively, Hermione's lips curl downwards into a frown, turning to face the magizoologist with piercing, irritated brown eyes._

_Newt steels himself; straightens his back, squaring his shoulders as he turns his soft gaze to Hermione's own. Brown and blue meeting in a flurry of unvoiced emotions, both parties eager to say their piece as Hermione opens her mouth, brows furrowed._

_"Wait! Please." He begs quickly, stopping her before she can begin. "Before you get angry with me just listen please."_

_Newt had already become somewhat accustomed to her occasionally explosive temper in the past few days, now acutely aware of her lashing reaction to anything perceived as a slight or grave injustice. It was nearly impossible to put a halt to the ensuing argument that was sure to follow._

_"Have you given any thought to what you would do once we returned to England? It's fine if you haven't. Merlin knows you've had more than enough to deal with since your fall through time and the chaos of New York. But have you actually given it any thought—" He pushes forward, hoping to nip the bud of the argument that he's sure is brewing within her chest._

_Despite her growing irritation, his charms distracted her. The way his copper-tinted hair is teased by the wind gives him a devil-may-care sort of look. The messy bedhead reminds her so very much of Harry's unruly hair. Her stern expression softening at the thought of her friend, curious brown eyes taking note of his freckled cheeks stained with red. Blue eyes open as he looks at Hermione imploringly._

_"A bit." Hermione relents with a soft, frustrated sigh. "No money, no job, no identity or easy way to establish my existence in this time thanks to our new found fame."_

_Newt nods, a relieved sigh falling from his parted lips, glad to have avoided being the one who brought up such issues._

_"But, I don't need your charity Newt." She pauses, "I've already imposed upon your kindness for far too long." A frustrated look crosses Newt's face as the words fill the air around them, his mouth pulling down in a slight frown._

_"It's no imposition-I-well, I like you—" Another pause as his brows furrow in deep thoughts. "I – Well, I enjoy your presence, and I don't believe I've ever implied that you're in need of charity. I'm well aware of how resourceful you can be when you put your mind to it. I have no shadow of a doubt that you could very easily make your way through this time all on your own if you so wished." He relents, blue eyes never leaving Hermione's own, his words hurried._

_"You shouldn't have to, though." He murmurs, a small smile pulling at his lips. Reaching out, he rests a heavy hand lightly on Hermione's. The small touch warms her skin, sending a jolt of pleasure and contentment through her senses._

_"You fell through time." His voice drops a few octaves, leaning closer to her ear. "You were given barely any time to adjust before being thrown into the middle of an international incident involving the greatest war criminal of our time. You—" He removes his hand and runs it through his already mussed hair. He sighs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Hermione's eyes follow its heated path._

_"Have you even let yourself work through your emotions yet? Of those you left behind and the life you established in the future? You put up a good front, but these past few days… I can tell that you miss them. I'm here whenever you feel ready. I won't push you, but you need to confront the feelings I can tell are raging within you. You don't need any more stress added to your ever-growing pile of difficulties. I-I just wish to relieve you of some of the burdens—"_

_Hermione sighs, her irritation swept away by an ocean wave as she turns to the sea once more. Eyes focusing on its dark depths, she begrudgingly accepts his offer with the slightest of nods. Relief washes over his features at her acceptance. His hand reaches out for hers, together, they look out into the sea, lost in their thoughts. _

* * *

So here they were, two months later after leaving New York, finally in Britain. Hermione still followed Newt around like a lost child searching for home, struggling to come to terms with all that had happened, struggling to accept the reality of her situation despite her powerful words spoken in New York.

The nightmares. Nightmares that had finally become less frequent in final few years before her fall through time had returned. Only now it wasn't just the war, Voldemort, Bellatrix and the faces of her loved ones from the future dead.

No. Now the macabre scenes had extra players. Grindelwald, Graves, Newt and their friends in New York. Grindelwald's laugh often played on a loop, mingling with the mad cackles of Bellatrix Lestrange, taunting her while she lay awake in bed before following her into her dreams. Hermione's own personal failures. The possibility of her trip through time causing irreparable damage to the timeline and making the future a far darker place plagues her. The _'what if's' _driving her mad.

Failing to ignore her building worries, the nightmares persist, pushing her to ward and silence her room, lest Newt hear her screams in the middle of the night.

Although, Hermione never knew that her wards had occasionally flattered, alerting Newt to her unvoiced struggles.

The pair settled into a comfortable routine, barring the occasional nightmares that woke him. With Hermione's help, Newt worked on the finishing touches on his manuscript before sending it off for publication. Neither left their now shared home too often, both of them well aware of the need to keep a low profile for the time being.

It was peaceful, the life they shared. Both parties respected each others privacy and need to be alone at times. They continued to bond — their attraction, magic, and friendship growing stronger each and every day.

A routine was quickly developed. Each day filled with the simple comforts of their odd little life.

In the morning, Hermione and Newt would work in his basement, making small repairs to the enclosures and enchantments, feeding the creatures and looking to their needs. The basement, like his case housed a variety of magical beasts and creatures. Hermione shouldn't have been surprised by the fact that Newt had expanded upon his living space, putting more care and attention into the construction of his basement than the rest of his home.

They would share most of their meals, only eating alone whenever one was too immersed in thought, work, or a really good book.

_Books. _Hermione smiles; she strokes the pages of the book, strewn open across her lap.

The two shared a love for reading. A fact, Hermione was eternally grateful for. Arriving at Newt's home, his living room caught her attention. Though much of his home was sparsely furnished the living room held at least a touch of personality. It was directly attached to the entranceway, where an entire wall was filled with floor to ceiling bookcases, full of rows upon rows of hardcover novels, a mixture of Muggle and Wizard authors.

Throughout the day, they would work on Newt's manuscript, compiling his research and editing its contents. Each time, Newt passed her a completed entry she discreetly pulls out her copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _from her bottomless bag, comparing the first edition to her own, taking note of the creatures that he had yet to find and study.

Newt, however, was fully aware of her favoured pastime. A small amused smile gracing his lips when she would discreetly dig around in her bag, pulling out the future version of his book, which now had a false cover. It was adorable, believing she had him fooled. A curious twinkle with a touch of amusement filling her bright brown eyes as she notes the differences.

In the evening, they would talk, learning more about each other bit by bit. Letting the days lazily pass by within their safe, now shared home. Two lonely souls had finally met their match. Their days of being alone, busying themselves with trivial tasks to pass the monotonous time was now a thing of the past.

He didn't want her to leave. As much as her guilt was eating away at her senses, Hermione had no true desire to leave Newt, his case and the home he had opened to her here.

They were happy. _Truly and blissfully _happy, content to pass their days for the time being eager to avoid the curiosity and questions of the Wizarding World, just a little while longer.

However, their peaceful days were soon coming to an end.

* * *

Back in the loud city of New York on the bustling Lower East side, street market stalls line the street with busy people, horses, and carriages.

A small bakery stands out amongst the crowd. Crowds of people throng outside the dainty little shop, painted with the name: _Kowalski_. People peer with interest into the shop's windows, and happy customers leave, their arms laden with baked goods.

* * *

_I don't want her to leave. _Newt leans back into his chair; he stretches to relieve the tension between his shoulders. Sad blue eyes falling on Hermione's form, sitting curled up in a plush brown chair a few feet away.

_Beautiful and terrifyingly brilliant. _Her wild hair tamed into a messy bun, her legs covered with a pair of loose, high-waist, trousers, pulled up onto the chair, tight against her body. Her ink-stained fingers brushing against the pages of her book with a far off look in her eyes.

Newt stands, barefoot, his quiet footfalls softly thudding against the hardwood floor, slowly making his way across the room. Hermione looks up.

He stops in front of a radio, hidden within a darkened corner. He turns the knobs; a slow jazzy number replaces the comfortable silence that surrounded them.

Every day, he learns more and more about the young woman he shares his home with. Every day, she shares a little more about herself with him.

Small things: favourite colour, food, and subjects.

Little bits of her past: her childhood in the muggle world, their technological advances in her time and her first bout of accidental magic.

In return, he shares pieces of himself with her.

However… many things are left unsaid. Her Hogwarts years, friends and family were touchy subjects most of the time. The young woman clamming up and shutting down every time he accidentally brushes against these trigger topics.

Likewise, there were topics that Newt himself is reluctant to discuss, such as his own years at Hogwarts, his friends and on occasion his family.

There is an unspoken agreement that two were extremely _forbidden_: The name Lestrange and the kiss they shared in New York.

_Leta Lestrange _the name and his past with her had entered Newt's mind more than he would have liked to admit during these past two months. Yet still Newt didn't bring it up to Hermione, in all honesty he hadn't a clue how to broach the subject. It was just one of those things that had been left unsaid.

_So yes_, the decision to avoid speaking of Lestrange was understandable, despite not knowing the reasoning, however, they hit a dead end with the second, and it was beginning to grate on their nerves.

Who knew that one little kiss could cause so much tension and secrecy in their, otherwise, steadily developing relationship.

__How long will we continue to dance around the topic? __Newt turns to Hermione, a determined glint in his eyes. He beams, offering a hand.

She closes her book with a snap, laughing. Jumping off the chair and approaching the man, slipping her fingers into his proffered hand.

* * *

Within the small, inviting bakery the doorbell rings, signalling the entrance of a new customer.

A variety of pastries and bread cover the counter, all moulded into fanciful little shapes — a Demiguise, Niffler, and Erumpent are among them.

Jacob serves with a bright smile stretching across his face, his shop full to the brim with customers.

"Where do you get your ideas from, Mr. Kowalski?" A woman asks, examining the little pastries.

"I don't know, I don't know - they just come!" He replies with a short laugh, handing over her pastries.

"Here you go - don't forget this - enjoy." Jacob grins, then calls over one of his bakery assistants, handing him a pair of keys.

"Hey, Henry - storage, all right? Thanks, pal."

The bell chimes again.

Jacob looks up, thunderstruck: I_t's Queenie_. They stare at each other. Queenie beams, radiantly. Jacob, quizzical and totally enchanted, touches his neck - a flicker of memory.

He smiles back.

* * *

Hermione giggles at the bashful yet shy expression on Newt's face. Wand slipping into her free hand, she waves it over her body. Her 20s style clothing ripples away, in its place is the exact same flapper dress Queenie transfigured for her in New York.

Newt's eyes trail up her body, appreciative. He summons his bowtie from the other room, securing it in place with a flourish before dropping her hand and bowing. He straightens his back, palm outstretched once more.

A soft chuckle slips from her lips at the absurdity of it all, earning herself an amused smile from him in return.

"May I have this dance?" He asks; growing impatient, he wiggles his fingers a little.

"You may." Her hand slips into his, warmth sparks into life as they touch. She squeaks when he suddenly pulls her flush against his body, Hermione's skin heating, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

They sway to the crooning voice of the female singer, a mixture of brown and blue as their eyes meet, faces so very close.

Hermione's lips fall into a frown, eyes pulling tight, teeming with remembrance.

_Harry. _Whispers her mind. Smoky wisps of memories gathering together, taking form within her mind. Her senses assaulted by the memories of the Horcrux hunt, when she and Harry were left alone.

Newt notices her melancholy; brows furrowing, tightening his arms around her, in hopes to anchor her to the present.

"I'm not Queenie." He whispers, mouth close to her ear, nose nuzzling into her hair, his warm breath causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"W-What?" Hermione squeaks, confused as she struggles through the dense fog of her memories. She tries to pull back, but Newt's strong hand holds her in place, pressed firmly but gently at the base of her neck.

"I'm not a Legilimens. I can see when you lose yourself in the past, but I don't know why. I won't know a thing unless you tell me." He explains; blue eyes searching deep into hers, he dares not speak louder than a whisper, pleading with her to share this with him.

"It's nothing," Hermione answers, avoiding his piercing gaze by looking away.

"_Please._" Hermione's breath hitches, she looks up at Newt beneath her lashes. "Tell me something, anything."

Newt stares hopefully as Hermione weighs the options.

She abruptly pulls away. A pained whimper escaping Newt at the loss of contact. Hermione walks across the room, burying her arm, elbow deep into her black leather bag.

He hears things knocking against one another. With a triumphant bark, Hermione pulls out a small silvery-blue sphere from her bag. She closes the distance between them quickly, standing in front of him with uncertainty.

"I—" She pauses, as her voice cracks, tears rim her eyes as she struggles to word her thoughts. "I can show you. I-If you'd like?"

Newts brilliant blue eyes see how she bites down hard on the tender flesh of her bottom lip. His features soften, aware of the shimmering tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

Speechless and baffled, he nods.

With a shaky breath, she presses a small button on the orb. The globe begins to glow, soft as candlelight before materializing a holographic screen. She turns a knob, brown eyes focused on the mini screen as glimpses of her memories flash by, their image bathed in a blue tint.

Newt's eyes narrow, observing each memory that flashes past. Many are bright and cheerful snapshots of what looks like a young Hermione with various people quickly rushing by. However, most of her memories are of an older couple that she shares a resemblance.

_Her parents. _He concludes.

A young boy with black, messy hair, glasses and the brightest pair of green eyes Newt's ever seen, ages throughout the memories.

There's another boy with fiery-red hair too.

So many people he's never seen and likely won't for decades yet, but who obviously meant the world to the mysterious woman before him.

The memories then stop, landing on a single scene tinted darker than the rest.

The image clears and comes into focus. It's a young Hermione, around 17 or 18 standing next to a familiar dark haired boy, present in many of the previous memories. They're standing in an earthy-brown tent, bathed in the dim light from the lanterns on the wall.

"It… Well, this memory — It was a sliver of light in the darkest of times." She stutters, biting down on her lip once more, her fingers shaking. Hermione waves her wand, and immediately silence entombs them. Fingers fumbling, she presses the button, and the memory begins to play out on the blue-tinged screen.

Newt's gapes in wonder, eyes attentive and awed. Memory Hermione sits on a short set of steps that appear to lead to a small sleeping area. The dim lantern bathes her tanned face in a yellowish glow. Her hair wild and greasy, tamed into a loose ponytail that hangs at the base of her neck, her legs pulled tight to her chest, wearing a pair of pants that look like a second skin with a loose plaid shirt. Sad brown eyes focused on the small radio to her side.

"Harry." She clarifies, identifying the dark haired boy approaching. She smiles at the sight of him.

The young man — Harry crosses the room, looking just as dirty and worn down as Hermione. He sits in a foldable chair, facing his friend.

The radio crackles as a song fills the room around them in the present. It's like nothing he's ever heard before. The lyrics and music seem to overflow with emotion as he focuses on the two young people.

_Harry looks to Hermione, hands folded in his lap. He's exhausted, dirty and suffering from sleep deprivation. He tries to focus on his friend._

_Hermione stares at the radio, back hunched, arms wrapped tight around her legs._

_Taking in her state of mind, he slowly makes his way across the room. He stands directly in front of her. Finally noticing him, she looks up; her eyes filled with unshed tears, a sense of defeat plain as day on her young, un-scarred face. Harry shuffles on the spot under her gaze; clearing his throat, gathering his courage, he offers her a hand._

_Confused, Hermione swallows back the frog in her throat, blinking away her tears and accepts his hand._

"We - our friend had left us. We were on the run, hiding out in a tent and Ron..." She chokes, "he _abandoned _us. Harry and I - we had to bear the burden alone - the locket. It was _vile._" She stumbles, struggling to explain the context to him.

Anger batters against Newt's senses when she stumbles over the name. _Ron_. Despite not knowing who Ron is, Newt feels furious by his actions. But he reminds himself that this boy has yet to be born and has yet to thrust his share of the burden upon his friends.

Shaking his head, he chases away his anger and turns his attention back to the memory.

_Harry reaches around her neck, fingers easily locating the clasp of the necklace as he pulls the locket from its place. His brilliant green eyes, filled with purpose, gaze unwavering into her brown._

_Throwing it to the side, the heavy locket hits the wall with a clank. Hermione breathes a little easier as the tension slips away from her body._

_Taking her hand, Harry walks them to the centre of the room. With a strained playful smile, they dance to the music; knuckles white, eyes fixed upon one another._

_He spins her. She's smiling more and more as they gain more confidence in their unscripted dance, along with tempo. Her eyes still teary but no longer in sadness_.

Newt's heartbeat quickens at the emotional scene.

There was no romance there, but it was clear that there was more than the eye can see. The bond between Harry and Hermione was deeper than that — their silly dance moves tainted with weariness speak of a bond forged through adversity and need. A friendship that will never become anything more than platonic, but stand firmly against everything the world throws their way. Those smiles, laughter, silly little dance — a comfort in this dark time.

_A sliver of light in the darkest of times. _Newt's lips purse thin. _It's just like she said._

_The pair take turns spinning one another, bright smiles, tinged with melancholy; laughter freely spilling from their lips._

A muffled sob startles Newt, his eyes widen as he looks to Hermione.

Tears are running freely down her face, shoulders quaking as her emotions burst through the dam. She tries to stem the cascade of tears down her cheeks with a forced smile; the memory shaking along with her.

_The music swells, their movements quicker and joyous. The pair loses themselves in this playful dance. Harry and Hermione hold each other close, breathing heavily, resting their chins on one anothers shoulders as they continue to rock each other to the music. Hermione fists the back of Harry's shirt while he wraps his arm tighter around her waist, seeking comfort in the others embrace._

_As the music fades out, the pair pulls apart, standing a minute distance apart. Their eyes meet one final time, before the memory wanes._

The moment the memory vanishes; Newt closes the distance between them with his long legs, gently prying the dormant orb from her hand. He tosses it onto the chair then pulls the sobbing woman into his arms. One arm snaking around her waist, another burying itself into her hair, he hugs her. He simply holds her, paying no mind to her tears soaking his shirt.

He tries to comfort her after reliving such an emotional memory, he blinks furiously as tears begin to sting the corners of his eyes, as a wave of empathy crashes into him.

"I'm sorry—" He whispers, choking with emotions.

He buries his nose deeper into her curls, pulling a deep, shaking breath into his burning lungs. His lips brush a hair away from her ear, warm breaths caressing her skin. Newt struggles to find the words, any words to convey his feelings. He wishes he could take away every single teardrop, quivering lips, and the shake in her shoulders as her body heaves in sobs. But there are just some things magic can't do.

"What for?" She asks with a sobbing laugh, arms tightening around his form.

Newt pulls away a little, meeting her tear filled gaze with a tender look of his own. He cradles her tear-stained cheek in his hand, wiping away the incoming tears with his thumb.

"You miss him — You miss all of them." He says laying a soft, adoring kiss on her temple.

"I-I really do." She stammers; breathing laboriously, more tears gushing down her face. Newt pulls back, giving her another soft smile, his hand rubbing small circles into her back.

"You can tell me about them, about him." Newt murmurs into her ear. "If you'd like."

Her brows furrow, lips quivering as she seems to debate his words.

"I – Okay. Yes." She relents, a teary smile filling her face. "I'll tell you. What do you want to know?"


	2. The Boy Who Lived

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! In other news, I finally wrote something down for the chapter following where I originally left off so hopefully that goes well and I have something completely new for you soon! Let's remember not to be pushy about updates though.

P.S. I'll probably be in need of a Beta if anyone's interested in that. Let me know :)

* * *

Once more calmed after her emotional outburst, settled into the comfortable fabric of the magically lengthened chair, fabric-clad thigh pressed firmly against Newt's own, a steaming cup of tea in hand Hermione begins her tale.

"_Harry James Potter_\- Where do I begin? I told you how we became friends, thanks to the troll incident, but that wasn't truly our first meeting. Though, perhaps. Perhaps it's best to start at the very beginning," Hermione shudders a deep breath, holding her steaming cup of tea close to her chest as a chill runs through her body.

A pause. Hermione furrows her brow, seemingly lost in thought before setting her tea to the side, turning to face Newt.

"Newt." She begins, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I don't believe I'm wrong to trust you, but what I'm about to tell you - it's of the utmost importance that the information I share, here and now, stays between us." She pauses again, taking another deep shaking breath of air into her lungs before continuing. "I'm still not entirely sure how my presence has affected the timeline; perhaps these events have ceased to exist thanks to my presence alone. But what I'm about to tell you, the information I'm about to share, it's extremely s_ensitive _information, which in the wrong hands could probably bring about the end of the Wizarding world as we know it."

Newt looks into Hermione's eyes, silence filling the air. He tilts his head in the slightest of nods. Exhaling, Hermione scoops her tea back into her hands, seeking its warmth. She clears her throat before beginning her tale.

"In 1980, a prophecy was given, _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...' _You see, this prophecy, despite my reservations regarding Divination, was indeed a _true _prophecy. It was a catalyst for much of what was to come."

"Ah- not one for divination then?" Newt suddenly interrupts, attempting to lighten the mood a little. Feeling the need to shake off the feeling of foreboding that's beginning to creep along his senses somehow.

Hermione laughs, a wistful smile on her face. "Not at all." She replies, taking a sip of her tea. "A story for another day, perhaps."

"Now where was I... Ah, yes. You see the prophecy in question referred to the_ 'Dark Lord' _and one Harry James Potter, a half-blood wizard who would be born that very year. Unfortunately, an agent of the dark heard only the first part of the prophecy. He returned to his master and relayed what he had found." Newt notes the sadness crossing her face at the mention of this 'dark agent' as silence hangs in the air, he furrows a brow in thought, storing the information away for later. "Despite not knowing the full prophecy and being aware that there were two young boys who met the requirements. He chose to focus his attentions on Harry, who was a half-blood like him. On the 31st of October, 1981 the Dark Lord attacked the Potter residence, killing James and Lily Potter before turning his wand on young Harry. Although, I'm sure he believed it would be easy, killing a small defenceless child. He was wrong. The killing curse rebounded, destroying his physical form and scarring young Harry."

She pauses again, gathering her voice. "The Wizarding World rejoiced. The Dark Lord was defeated. The world was finally at peace, and Harry became known as _'The Boy Who Lived'_, though the Wizarding world would not see young Harry again for many years yet." Her voice drips with bitterness at the thought.

Newt watches with hawk-like eyes as Hermione leans forward, placing her cooling cup of tea to the side. She leans back into the chair with a low sigh and a faraway look in her eyes.

"Harry James Potter." That small wistful smile, tinged with sadness fills her face once more. "'The Boy Who Lived to be a giant pain in my arse." Newt chokes on his tea, shocked by her sudden, crass language. Hermione laughs. "In 1991, on the Hogwarts Express, a young Muggle-born girl would meet the two young boys who would later become her very best friends. Sadly, our initial meeting wasn't the best. The young red-haired boy, Ronald Weasley didn't like the young girl at all, and Harry, having spent much of his early life without friends or a loving family, clung to his very first friend in the Wizarding World like a Bowtruckle to its tree. I've told you about the troll incident, how our friendship began—" Hermione snorts, making Newt smile indulgently.

"Trouble seemed to follow Harry - and well, Ron and I were often dragged along for the ride, willingly or not. In our first year alone, we faced off against a troll," Hermione notices Newt pulling a face from the corner of her eye. "Oh, honestly that was one of the _least _dangerous creatures we encountered during our time at Hogwarts." She says with a laugh, face falling as a memory begins to form within her mind once more. "You'll often find that the most terrifying creatures you'll meet aren't the ones hiding under your bed or in the Forbidden Forest, but those that wear the skin of humans, masquerading as people with a soul made or pure, inky black."

An uncomfortable silence falls, their uneven breathing punctuating the silence as her words begin to sink in.

* * *

One of the Guards shudders, a foreboding shadow creeping into his very soul. He straightens his back, hand on his wand, staring steadfastly at one of the abyss-black walls. He notices as his partner's breath hitches. They look at each other out of the corner of their eyes, noting the cold sweat breaking out across the middle-aged man's skin.

From within the magically reinforced, maximum-security room, an eerie little tune whistles through the walls. A haunting song that chills the guard to the bone, charging every hair on his body to stand at ends.

_He's a madman. _The nameless guard grits his teeth, fingers flexing around the curved hilt of his wand.

Suddenly the eerie song ends. Gellert Grindelwald falls silent once more.

The Guard can't help but wonder which is worse, his eerie words or the unsettling silence now screaming through the room and halls.

* * *

"Not even the great Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of my time, was omnipotent." Newt quirks his brow at the mention of Dumbledore, a spark of curiosity filling his sharp-blue eyes. The memory of a conversation had just before his trip to New York swimming to the surface of his mind. "Hogwarts was not as safe as everyone believed. The walls of the ancient school, said to be unrivalled, was questioned many times over throughout the years, and this was only just the beginning." Hermione sighs, rubbing a hand over her drawn face. She ignores Newt's curiosity and his somewhat distracted look, pushing forward. "If we ever meet again, I have a few questions I'd like to ask that man— Not the time... Right — So Harry, Merlin was he ever the living embodiment of Godric Gryffindor. That boy was as reckless and bold as the day was long. The three of us learned that the Headmaster hid a powerful magical artefact within the school. Harry fearing that something was amiss went out in search of the stone, Ron and I following close on his heels."

Hermione frowns, losing herself as she attempts to organize the memories from the days that had yet to come.

"You see the teachers had put protections in place, challenges. The first was a _Cerberus_, named _Fluffy_, guarding a trapdoor. That was easy enough, a bit of music and Fluffy fell right asleep. Second, after going through the trap door, a long and dark drop which ended with a chamber full of Devil's Snare. Ron was so frustrated with me—" Newt's shocked by the thrill of anger that rushes through his body at the mention of the young red-haired boy's name. "I was trying to prove myself to be an exceptional and knowledgeable witch, but at times I completely forget that I am, in fact, a _witch_. Resorting to a more Muggle means to deal with difficult issues that could be just as easily solved with a small spot of magic." A single tear begins to carve a path down her heated cheeks. She swipes at it with a single shaking hand.

"Third was a chamber with an impossibly high ceiling, filled to the brim with glittering winged keys. F-Fourth was an impossibly dark room designed by our Transfiguration professor. Within the chamber, was a human sized chess board—"

* * *

Sequestered away in his personal office, Albus Dumbledore sits alone. In front of him is a hand-carved ebony Wizarding Chess board.

Albus strokes his slightly greying auburn beard, then smooths a finger over one of the expertly crafted Wizard's chess pieces, blue eyes thoughtful as he looks at the few pieces spread out before him.

_There must always be sacrifices. _His eyes darts from the White King and Queen to their darker counterparts.

"Knight to H-3" He quietly murmurs, folding his hands under his chin.

The White Knight moves forward, directly into the path of the Black Queen. Albus watches as the Black Queen destroys his knight, before making quick work of the opposing team's King.

The match is won, but at a cost. Albus leans back in his chair, a soft sigh falling from his lips as his twinkling-blue eye glaze over, staring into the darkened room.

"The Greater Good." The single phrase falls from his lips in the smallest of whispers. The fire cracks, a mechanic whine filling the room.

* * *

"Ron and I often clashed. Our personalities were so very different, but there was one thing I could never deny: Ronald Weasley was a brilliant strategist. He knew there was no other way. The sacrifice had to made, to win the game and allow Harry and me to move forward." With a flick of his wand, Newt silently vanishes their cups of cold tea. His curious blue eyes never once leaving Hermione's face, eager to hear all she wished to share.

"The fifth challenge was the Mountain Troll, however, once inside the chamber we found the troll dead. We knew then, for sure that we weren't the first to get this far. The sixth was where my particular talents came into play. It was a logic puzzle, something that would give even the most brilliant of Wizards a pause." Hermine says with no small amount of pride, a smirk curling her lips. "The entrance was blocked by purple flames while the exit was barred by black, to leave we had to identify the correct bottles. There were seven bottles on the table, three were poison, two contained nettle wine, one contained a potion to traverse the black flame safely, and the last contained a potion that allowed passage back through the purple flames. I solved the riddle, but there was only enough potion for one to move forward, I returned to Ron and went for help while Harry went forward alone."

"You were 11—" Newt chokes, drawing Hermione's attention, sounding somewhat strangled.

"Twelve," She says with a wave of her hand. "Close enough, though - So, Harry went forward. There, he found the _Mirror of Erised _and our DADA Professor. It was then we learned that Professor Quirrell, a bumbling, incompetent wizard with an odd fashion sense was, in fact, a host for the wraith-like parasitic consciousness of the Dark Lord. It was here that Harry and the Dark Lord, better known as Voldemort had their second meeting."

"Child-Children, facing off against fully grown wizards." The words force themselves out from his quivering lips, astounded as he looks at the time travelling woman in awe.

"It's hardly the last time something like this happened. It all worked out in the end. The wraith was defeated, Harry, Ron and I survived and earned ourselves the name of _'The Golden Trio'_." Hermione scowls a little at Newt, who looks as though Dementors had a go at him.

She reaches out. Soft brown eyes meet blue, she rests her hand on his, a comforting warmth spreading from where their skin meets.

"We can stop if you'd like. The story only gets worse before it gets better." She informs the troubled young wizard with a small smile, hoping to comfort him.

"No, no - Please, I said I'd listen, and I do wish to know. It's just - Children, the three of you were children—"

"Indeed we were, although death and the horrors of war rarely discriminate according to age or experience. The Wizarding World was a darker place than, growing more and more dangerous with each passing day. That was our reality, and thanks to my friendship with Harry and Ron, I was thrown right into the middle of it all."

* * *

"—this is a direct order from the Minister himself!" The Undersecretary bellows as his face turns a rather unusual shade of purple, bushy brown moustache quivering.

"And as I've said, time and time again, the orbs are protected. The _only _people who can take a prophecy from its shelf are the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy, and the subject or subjects of said prophecy. Though, if you'd like to be afflicted with instant madness, please be my guest." The Head of the Department of Mysteries warns the raving man, calm and with a small smirk twitching at the corners of his lips.

"Where's the damn Keeper than!? Bring him here!" The Undersecretary spits, obviously at his wit's end.

"Ms. Jones?" The Department Head asks, turning to the young woman at his side. She runs a well-manicured hand through her hair, a small sigh falling from her lips.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Sir." She replies, respectfully and calmly, though the slightest hint of amusement dances along the edges of her words.

With a huff, the Undersecretary turns and stomps from the room, cursing quietly under his breath. Branwen Jones sighs, knowing full well it's highly unlikely that's the last they would see of the incompetent man.

With a final nod to her superior, Branwen turns. Her modest black heels clicking against the stone floor as she makes her way back to the darkened chamber of the Hall of Prophecy's, curiosity plaguing her every waking thought.

* * *

"_Find her! Find her! Find her! _I want every available Auror on the job! Locating and procuring this Granger woman takes precedence!" Hector Fawley snarls at the assembled room, spittle flying from his mouth.

All those that notice cringe. Much of the room clears out, only the Department Heads and the Minister himself remaining. Silence reigns over the chamber as the Minister begins to calm.

* * *

"Our friendship continued to grow. I naively believed that I had found acceptance and finally found my place in the Wizarding World. It was during my Second Year, where I first encountered the prejudice and hatred surrounding my blood status—" Newt's expression softens, the corners of his lips pulling down in a frown. His curious blue eyes drawn to her exposed forearm, noticing how Hermione's ink-stained fingers gently prod the raised silvery flesh.

"The Chamber of Secrets was opened. A young girl was possessed. Students, a cat, and even a ghost were petrified by the ancient beast that slept within the chamber below. Muggle-born, Half-blood, Pure-blood — the divide between our status became all the more evident with each passing day. This was only the beginning—" Newt's breath catches, eyes widening as Hermione continues her tale. Recounting her second year, briefly touching on the Basilisk, her petrification, and Harry's third meeting with this 'Voldemort.'

She doesn't go into much detail, her voice laced with a hysterical edge as she recalls the traumatizing encounter with the Basilisk and the time she spent petrified in the Hospital Wing.

_There's more to it. _Newt frowns, watching her trembling hands, shaking voice and the far-off look in her eyes.

Few, who had encountered a Basilisk, had lived to tell the tale. Those that had, much like Hermione, were unwilling or unable to explain what it was truly like. Newt had questioned it before, what happened to those who were petrified. Was it as simple as going to sleep or was it far worse? Could she have been awake the entire time? Conscious, but unable to move or speak, unable to do a thing as a Basilisk terrorized the school?

The thought makes him shudder, a chill running through his body as she finishes the tale of her terror-filled Second Year.

"Third year, honestly it wasn't all that bad, considering." Her quiet laugh breaks him from his thoughts, curious blue eyes focusing on the young woman beside him once more.

Newt purses his lips, a sliver of apprehension crawling along his spine. He feels protective of Hermione, a sensation that he just can't shake as it slowly consumes him.

_She can protect herself. _He snorts, smiling fondly as her steady voice continues to break through the dark night sky.

* * *

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." The welcome witch announces within the small elevator as the doors slide open.

The Head of the Auror Department steps out into the hallway, striding quickly through the dimly lit corridors, his dark overcoat billowing behind him. A snarl contorts and warps his usually handsome face.

The Head Auror — Head Auror Shafiq was normally a compassionate and fair man, but after spending almost every waking moment for the last two months conversing with the Minister, the other Heads of the Departments and dealing with unrest bordering on insubordination from some of his more outspoken and opinionated Aurors, he was an inch away from snapping. As he draws closer to Auror Headquarters, he brushes his fingers over the curved wood of his wand. Magic sparks in response; he takes a deep breath and slips into a more neutral expression.

Hector Fawley, Minister for Magic. The man was a joke. Despite Grindelwald's capture in New York only months ago, the Wizarding World was still not at peace. It didn't take a genius to reach this conclusion. Every day, the war continues to rage on throughout Europe. Small branches of Grindelwald's army gaining a foothold, while they all sit around and do nothing to subdue the growing terrorist organization. Though their leader was captured, they had yet to lose hope. It's like they know Grindelwald won't be contained for long. Head Auror Shafiq can't help but agree. Fawley — the idiot he is — pulled nearly every one of his Auror's from their current jobs and missions, overruling his authority, and directing all efforts towards finding one little girl.

_The fool. _With a sigh, Head Auror Shafiq steps into the Auror Headquarters, smoothing a hand through his close-cropped raven-black hair.

"Sir!" A young man's voice shouts, taking note of his superior's entrance.

The Head Auror looks up, dark weary brown eyes focusing on one of their newest recruits who is fast approaching.

"I-It's Auror Scamander, sir." The young recruit stutters before clamming up, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, refusing to meet his superior's gaze.

"Yes, what about him?" Head Auror Shafiq asks with an exasperated sigh, irritation growing with every wasted moment.

"He- Well, you see." The rookie's voice cracks.

"Get on with it Johnson. I'd like to go home at some point today."

"H-He still hasn't returned." Auror Johnson finally spits out before scuttering out of the irked wizard's view.

"Scamander." Head Auror Shafiq growls, pivoting on his heel, overcoat billowing behind him. He stalks back out into the halls in search of his wayward Auror, giving up on any thoughts of going home and getting a good night's rest, yet again.

* * *

"So let me get this straight." Newt begins with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. "A werewolf, an escaped convict and a mass murderer disguised as a rat — _'wasn't all that bad' _— what in the world do you _consider _to be bad?" He asks a sliver of frustration in his voice.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the pair; a sigh slips from Hermione's lips.

"Newt." She whispers, hand moving to rest on his cloth covered thigh. "You have to understand - the time I came from, it — I know things aren't all that better, but you have yet to experience the worst of it, the war has yet to begin truly."

Newt glances over to Hermione, her eyes stare dazed on the wall, expression drawn, and teeth worrying at her lips.

_It won't be long now. In a few short years, it'd get so much worse. Neither the Muggles or the Wizarding World would escape unscathed by the horrors of war - Pre-war London. _She rues. The witch removes her hand from Newt's thigh, and buries her head in her hands, with a shaky breath falling from her lips.

"Pain. Blood. Death. War. No matter when we are…" She mumbles, the quietly spoken words trailing off.

An avalanche of chilling fear crashes into Newt. Hermione's quiet, eerie words disturb him to the bone. A feeling of dread threatening to choke the life from him.

_So many will die, Muggle, Wizard; the cost would be so very high— _Hermione sinks into the chair, dropping her hands to her sides. _I can't do a thing about it, the Muggle World, the coming war - Grindelwald and Dumbledore - Can I even— _

Her thoughts are cut short when Newt lays his hand over hers, fingers intertwining together. Heat sparks into life upon contact, the tension in her shoulders, and the headache building between her eyes melting away in an instant. Hermione's expression softens, the pair letting out a contented sigh.

_Come what may, you can't save them all. Can't change everything. Just do what you can and try to live. _Her mind whispers, floating away with a gentle breeze.

* * *

"Newt" Theseus Scamander growls, a string of curses flowing from his mouth as he kicks at the wall, irked beyond reckoning.

_Another dead end._

Theseus Scamander, war hero, a well-respected member of society and an infamous Auror. Throw him in the middle of a warzone or duel, and he'd almost always be the victor — calm and level-headed, Theseus _rarely _lost his temper. That being said, there was one person, _one _single person that could make him lose his head.

"What have you done now, little brother." Theseus sighs, his question echoing down the dingy, darkened alleyway. Mind speeding a million miles an hour as he attempts to narrow down the list of tips he had received over the past few days.

_Paranoid little bugger. Normally it_ wasn't difficult to find Newt. Just follow the reports of a madman with a case, and any mention of incidents involving magical beasts and you'd roughly pinpoint his location at any given time. However, the news had been decidedly slow as of late. They knew Newt and his companion were in England, but the Ministry had been unable to track them down. For once, it seemed as though Newt was on his very best behaviour.

There was no news of wild rampaging creatures. No mention of a madman with a case. Not even a _whisper _of Newt's new, wild-haired companion's whereabouts. More to the point, it seemed as though whenever his brother appeared in public, he made great efforts to cover his tracks. Purposely letting them spot him in various parts of London, and taking care to direct all attention away from whatever his homes current location may be.

The two brothers had a relatively good relationship, but they weren't as close as they could be, that's true. Theseus's life was here, while Newt couldn't seem to resist the call of adventure. Often setting off in search of the most majestic creatures, travelling to the farthest corners of the world, vanishing from the world for months at a time. Because of Newt's wanderlust, Theseus had yet to see his new home.

_He can't hide from me forever. _Theseus takes a deep breath, straightens his overcoat, and tugs at his sleeves. Exiting the alleyway, he steps out into the quiet street, setting off in search of his brother's current whereabouts, and the woman he may very well be hiding there.

* * *

"Fourth year, Voldemort, he finally returned. Any semblance of peace was nearly gone." Hermione hush, filled with emotion, tears gathering in her eyes. "Harry - he didn't ask for it – he never wanted to be the figurehead for the coming war. He was just a boy, a _child_, we all were, and yet there it was. The tentative peace was crumbling away. The Darkest Wizard of our time had returned and what little childhood we had was swiftly torn from our hands."

Hermione's fingers tighten around Newt's own, a teardrop tearing its way down her heated cheek.

"The public, the Ministry, they refused to believe that he had returned. Voldemort's original rise to power was an extremely dark time for the Wizarding world, full of fear, mistrust, death and heavy losses. It wasn't a surprise when people chose not to believe as history began to repeat itself once more, so they trusted the Ministry, who attempted to discredit Harry and Dumbledore, calling them liars and madmen, painting them in a negative light. As a result of Dumbledore and Harry's claims, the Ministry, in all its infinite wisdom, decided to place one of their own within the halls of Hogwarts." A viscous look curls her lips then. "A pompous, pink monstrosity of a woman with her head shoved so far up the Ministers ar—"

A loud cough cuts her tirade short, her angry gaze instantly snapping to Newt, he meets Hermione's gaze with one of his own a single brow quirked.

With a nervous chuckle, the time traveller forces herself to calm, sucking great gulps of air into her lungs before blowing them out in a steady stream, clenched fists relaxing, features smoothing.

"Ah. Well, she was a ruthless, opportunistic, and power-hungry woman," Hermione says with a small feminine cough, choosing to ignore her previous tirade, pushing forward once more.

* * *

"Ah" The delighted note falls from Theseus's lips as he stares at the slightly shimmering wards before him, finally visible thanks to a tricky bit of advanced magic. He recognizes his younger brother's magical signature with ease, but there was another magical signature intertwined with his.

_Hermione Granger, I assume. She's a powerful witch. _He deduces. A triumphant smile pulling at his lips as he reaches out with his magic, gently caressing the edges of the wards, testing them.

With baited breath, he waits. When no alarm sounds, his smile grows bigger, he picks at the wards more aggressively, meeting little resistance. The triumphant-giddy smile never once leaving his face as he gets to work breaking down the rather impressive set of wards surrounding his younger brother's apartment.

_Good to see some things never change. _Theseus muses. Tendrils of his brother's magic touch his own, reacting and accepting the familiar magic, seeing no malicious motives from the newcomer.

* * *

"You really are terrifying, brilliant yes, but _absolutely _terrifying at times." Newt relents with a sigh, feeling far older than his age as the woman before him continues to weave her tale.

An angelic laugh falls from Hermione's lips at his words. Sounding far too innocent given all he's now learned about the woman, her brown eyes bright as their gazes meet.

"Ronald often said something along those lines." She says, her smile suddenly vanishing as her eyes grow dark. Trepidation runs up Newt's spine, realizing her story is about to take a darker turn. "On the 18th of June, 1996 the first major conflict of the Second Wizarding War took place within the Department of Ministries. Voldemort lured Harry away from the school with a false vision, he was convinced his Godfather was in danger and refused to wait or listen to reason, rushing head first into danger again. Not keen on letting him go alone, Ron and I along with our friends: Ginny, Luna and Neville followed his lead. Arriving at the Ministry, we were cornered by a dozen Death Eaters. It was a trap."

Colour bleeds away from Hermione's face. Her hand begins to trembles.

"It was terrifying, my first _real _battle – Life-threatening challenges, a Basilisk loose in the school, werewolves, a murderer masquerading as our pet, twisted teachers, a death tournament and the illegal use of a time turner were _nothing _compared to the horror's we were about to face. We were little more than children, and they were _brutal_, shooting to kill and maim with little care for our age or experience. Somehow, _somehow _we managed to fend off the Death Eaters, just long enough for help to arrive. The cost of victory was high. None of us came out of the battle unscathed. I have the scar to prove it and Sirius—" A whimper rips from her lips, tears streaming once more, as her fingers trace the tail end of the scar, peeking out just above the collar of her shirt.

"Who? How?" Newt asks, fill with a touch of dread as his gentle, calloused fingers brushing against hers, stopping her from clawing at her skin.

"Dolohov." She hisses, voice laced to the brim with her seething rage and regrets swirling within her.

Newt breathes out a sigh of relief, thankful that it wasn't the Lestrange that had such a negative impression on Hermione. If only he knew.

Without warning, the wards drop with a faint whine. Newt and Hermione shudder as they sense the last of their protection being stripped away.

Both perking up at the sudden threat, they shoot to their feet, bodies angled to the door. Newt blocks Hermione partially from view by standing in front of her.

With a deep breath, hands still trembling, Hermione wipes the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Lips pressed together in a determined line, her vine wood wand sliding into her hand. Her magic sings.

The doorknob jiggles, the locks still in place. The sound of metal sliding against metal sounds in the quiet room around them as the door's unlocked.

_A wizard? _Hermione shoves down the memories and the emotional turmoil Newt and her had shared only moments before, wand raised high, hand now steady, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

The door handle jiggles again, before the doors gives way and Newt and Hermione are met with the sight of empty space.

"Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, what would Mother say if she could see you now. Living in sin with a woman you hardly know, the celebrated hero of the Wizarding world." A masculine voice echoes from the hallway, the amusement, and exasperation clear in his words.

Newt sighs, lowering his wand. He turns to Hermione, resting a hand on top her wand hand as he urges her to do the same.

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, but the words die on her parted lips when he gives her a reassuring smile. She drops her hand after a moment's hesitation, curiosity filling her dark brown eyes as Newt turns to the door once more.

"She'd probably be amused by the entire situation." Newt laughs as a handsome man steps into view, causally walking into the room. His colouring and frame so very similar to Newt's own with a dark overcoat dancing about his build.

"Theseus Scamander, Newt's older brother." The man bows, a trace of amusement in his voice, as his familiar blue eyes meet Hermione's curious gaze. A hint of laughter dancing in his eyes as he takes note of her quirked brow and tense stance.

_Two of them, just what I need. _Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes as her shoulders slumps down, tension melting away.


	3. Hall of Prophecy

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thank you to everyone leaving reviews! I do read them all even if I don't always reply :) It's nice to see all you new readers out there as well! I hope I can create a story you all enjoy!

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone.

* * *

"I see you're growing out your facial hair once again. Mother would be horrified." Newt sips on a fresh cup of tea, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Hermione barely manages to contain the giggles threatening to spill from her lips as the two brothers bicker. Their lanky frames looking cramped on the transfigured loveseat and the small, delicate teacups looking far too small for their large hands.

"I think there's little that could _truly _horrify Mother." Theseus counters with a smirk of his own curving his lips.

After the shock of Theseus's arrival, the trio eased into a comfortable rhythm. The stress and tension from their earlier conversation quickly melting away, thanks to the inclusion of the high-spirited young man.

It was easy to see that the two brothers got on quite well. Hermione's intelligent brown eyes took in the newcomer, registering everything she notices as the two brothers continue to squabble.

Short, copper brown hair expertly styled atop his head with the slightest hint of curl noticeable at the tips. His pale complexion — similar to Newt's — slightly darkened by the generous spattering of freckles across his striking features and that rust-coloured stubble along his jaw. Vivid blue eyes that mirror Newt's own were focused entirely on his younger brother.

Hermione's unable deduce his current occupation by his style of dress alone, but he's dressed in a sophisticated manner. Unlike Newt, Theseus' attire looks tasteful enough for him to blend into a crowd easily, either in the Muggle or Wizard World. Though, his dark overcoat is especially impressive. She struggles to hold back a sigh, all of her research before her fall through time had only mentioned this man in passing.

_I always did like a well-dressed man… Can I trust him? _Hermione's fingers tighten around the warm teacup. Her eyes drawn to the smooth, light-coloured wand with little adornment on the table.

She narrows her eyes, unconsciously leaning forward to examine it more closely, unfamiliar with the type of wood. Seeing that they are distracted, her ink-stained fingers brush gently against the smooth wood. A small gasp falling from her lips as the magic contained within gently brushes against her own in greeting, unknown to her the two brothers have fallen silent, two pairs of curious blue eyes watching her.

"Manners, Ms. Granger. Don't you know it's quite rude to touch another Witch or Wizard's wand without their permission?" Theseus's amused voice breaks the silence in the room, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

Letting out a startled squeak, the young time travelling witch's head snaps up, wild hair dancing behind her in a whirlwind. A blazing trail of crimson swiftly spreading across her cheeks as she gnaws at her lip, thoroughly embarrassed to have been caught red-handed.

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." Theseus' eyes meet hers; wiggling his brows with that smirk on his face.

Wide-eyed and shocked by his brother's words, Newt chokes on his tea. He sets it aside before he drops it with a groan. His head lulls into his hands, as a sharp bark falls from Hermione's lips.

* * *

A thunderclap crack sounds throughout the empty, darkened alleyway. A dark-skinned man now stands alone in the shadows. His shrewd eyes dart around, tense and alert despite the late hour.

With an irritated sigh, Head Auror Shafiq relaxes, glancing up into the bottomless black sky. His eyes flutter shut, focusing again on his subordinate's magical signature, before another crack of thunder echoes through the empty alleyway as he Disapparates away.

* * *

"Hmmm, Vine, a personality with hidden depths, a witch with a greater purpose—" Theseus muses, talking to himself as he examines Hermione's wand, turning it over once more in his hands.

Hermione struggles to swallow the frog in her throat. Theseus's examination reminding her far too much of her interrogation with the man claiming to be Graves.

"Have you become an expert in wandlore whilst I was away?" Newt asks, brow quirked. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Hermione's discomfort under Theseus' inspection; his lips twitch downwards just a hint.

A sharp laugh tears from his brother's lips as he sets the wand on the table. Long fingers, reverently stroking the carved wood with a curious twinkle in his eye. Tension seems to bleed out from Hermione, features smoothing. Newt feels as though he can breathe easier seeing her ease.

"Hardly. It was nothing more than a passing fancy. My curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to do a bit of light reading. It's curious, though," Theseus begins, looking to Hermione, brows furrowed in thought. "Our magic reacts to one another quite well, even as I was dismantling the wards your signature did little to stop me. Newt's I can understand, but yours…"

The thought trails off, a question hanging in the air.

"The core?" He asks; eyes falling back to her wand, now laid beside his own.

"Dragon Heartstring." She whispers, her voice laced with gravel. The witch, sitting before them, can't shake the feeling of unease that fills her at Theseus's words.

"Curiouser and curiouser." The older man muses, eyes snapping up to meet Hermione's dread filled gaze.

"Care to share?" Newt asks with an irritated edge in his tone.

"Oh, I have no idea what any of it means," Theseus admits in a cheerful voice as he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, completely unaware of the inner turmoil churning within his two companions. "Not the slightest clue, though—" His sharp, blue eyes fall on Newt's own. "I imagine, it has something to do with you."

Silence threatens to suffocate them. Hermione's pulse quickens, resisting the urge to take back her wand, her magic just begging to be released. Her essence screaming for a way to release the flood of emotions soaring within her now.

Newt and Hermione refuse to meet one another's gaze, something Theseus is quick to spot. He raises a brow.

"Care to share?" Theseus asks with a hint of amusement, his words a mimicry of his brother's only moments before.

"Not particularly." Newt's words are muffled by the teacup, pressed tight against his mouth. Cerulean blue eyes dart about the room, never settling as his pale, freckled cheeks colour.

Theseus's brows climb ever higher, looking as though they're on their way to disappearing into his hairline at this rate.

"Are congratulations in order? Should I be expecting any mini Magizoologists running around anytime—"

"Theseus!" Newt interjects, his cheeks redden a blushing rose, startling Hermione; his brother quietly smirks in response.

"Did you elope in a far-off country?" Newt shoots him an exasperated glare. "Encounter a cursed object?" Newt shakes his head. "Perhaps found yourself magically bound like in those fairy tales mother read to us as children?" Theseus teases. His smirk evaporating very quickly when they stare, in shock and realization.

Silence falls upon them once more. Theseus' eyes bounce between the pair, his curiosity escalating by the second. He notices the way Hermione's eyes light up in thought, lips pursed tight, teacup frozen mid-sip as the wheels in her mind churn with vigour.

"I-It was a joke." Theseus stumbles, apologetic and confused. He looks to his younger brother.

Newt looks deep in thought as well, brows furrowed, still as a statue with his sharp blue eyes staring steadfastly at a wall, refusing to meet either of their gazes.

"Newt," Theseus' voice shakes. A beat and his brother finally turns to meet his gaze. "What in the world have you done now?"

With those final words, silence descends, the trio losing themselves in thought.

* * *

"Curious, isn't it?" A steady voice echoes down the shadowed row of the Hall of Prophecies.

Branwen jumps, a frightened shriek just barely stopping at the tip of her tongue as she turns to face her superior, the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies. With wide brown eyes, she watches him reach past her, a single weathered-aged hand grasping the inconspicuous lightly glowing orb.

With baited breath, she waits and watches, thoroughly aware of his ability to handle the orbs, but apprehensive nonetheless.

"Sir?" She asks under her breath, watching as he examines the orb, intrigued.

"What would you say this prophecy contains, Ms. Jones?" He breathes; raising a finger when Branwen open her mouth to answer. "Only one word, if you please."

Branwens brows crease in thought, unsurprised by her superior's question, well acquainted with his occasionally odd requests and games.

"Words."

"Indeed." He muses with a gravelly laugh. "Words. Nothing more, nothing less. And yet, words have power. This is all the truer in the Wizarding World, here, within the dark Hall of Prophecies. Especially, the words held within these orbs. These words hold great power. And why is that?"

"Mag—" Branwen answers quickly but stops herself, realizing the real answer. "Fate."

The man laughs, grey eyes focused on the orb.

"Either answer would suffice, my dear. To us, Magic is a fact. Fate, however, such an abstract concept, yet here we stand surrounded by the Fate's design. Many prophecies exist, all of which, rest here now. Many fulfilled, some remain dormant while others, have been lost to the unrelenting stream of time. However, very few carry enough weight to truly shift the tides. Often hastening, but never once going against Fate's design. But this," Branwen gazes deeply into the blue-tinged orb, drawn to the flickering blue flames contained within; curious open, and eager for knowledge.

"What do you believe, is held within this odd little orb?" He asks, setting it back on the shelf, folding his hands behind his back. The Keeper's grey eyes unsettling her as her mind tries to string together an answer.

"Change." She answers, barely above a whisper. The word echoes around them, the prophecies within their glass confines quake with fear.

A flame flickers and the smallest crack appears. The heavens, themselves, watch the act with baited breath.

Silence reigns firm. A haunting echo of a time that had yet to come, chilling its occupants to the bone.

* * *

_Magically bound. _Hermione wonders, glancing over to the brothers who are sitting in deathly silence, side by side on the transfigured loveseat.

With a sigh, Theseus leans forward, setting his cold tea to the side. Vexed, he meets Hermione's pensive gaze.

"You can't be serious. What in the world could make you both clam up like this? Magically bound..." He snorts, "it's a myth, nothing more than romantic fairy tales that young witches tell their children before they go to bed." Theseus proclaims with determined disbelief in his eyes. Though, there is a slight tremor in his voice, revealing his apprehension, Hermione notes.

"Fiction, fairy tales, myths. It wouldn't be the first time that there was truth to be found there, revealing a truth that reality obscured." Hermione criticizes offhandedly as she gets to her feet, making her way to her bag, rummaging around then retrieving a small hardcover book before resetting the bag's protections.

The brothers watch; Theseus confused and intrigued while Newt's face is ashen, dreading what unknown horrors that mind of hers is currently exploring.

Swiftly returning to her seat, she tosses the hardcover book onto the table, the book landing with a soft little thud.

_'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'_

Theseus wants to laugh, staring at Hermione as though she's mad, thinking his brother may very well have found a woman that was as odd as he, himself, is.

A scathing look silences him. The bushy-haired woman leans forward, flipping through the pages until she stops, pushing the open book closer to the waiting pair.

_'The Tale of the Three Brothers'_

Theseus's eyebrows shoot up, amusement dancing in his eyes. Newt lets out a shaky breath, his mind running at a million miles an hour.

"You're both familiar with the story?" Hermione assumes with a calm and steady tone, though her tension is evident.

"It's a fairy tale, nothing more—" Theseus trails off with a laugh, unable to restrain himself any longer, leaning back, shoulders relaxing, mirth clear in his eyes.

"Is it?" She concurs. The war hero falls silent at her question; a sliver of fear hurls through both of the brothers with those two short words.

"Hermione?" Newt raises his head. Blue meets brown eyes. A single glance is all the confirmation he needs.

Truth weaved into the fanciful tale. Hidden behind carefully weighted words, _'The Tale of the Three Brothers' _was no fairy tale.

Newt shudders, head falling into the palm of his hands as a sigh falls from his parted lips.

Theseus contemplates the pair, disbelief clear, determined that they're both mad.

"Which part?" Newt questions, muffled and barely audible by his hands.

"The Gifts. The three gifts the brothers received: the wand, the cloak, and the stone." She replies, voice equally low.

"What are they?" Hermione bites her lip, pauses. Uncertain about revealing the truth, her eyes flicker to Theseus. His presence is the cause of her hesitation. She ponders for a moment, then with her mind made up, she breathes deeply.

"They're the Deathl-" Her words are cut short when the door blows open, torn from its hinges, wood cracking and splintering under the impact of an advanced blasting spell.

The trio quickly arms themselves, bracing for a fight. With baited breath, they wait.

A tall, dark-skinned man trails into the room, curved wand drawn, dark cloak billowing behind him.

He paints an impressive picture.

Theseus moves first, dropping his wand to the side, stepping forward to meet the man.

"Dominic?" He addresses the man, shocked and a little confused.

"That's _Head Auror Shafiq t_o you, Auror Scamander. This isn't a social call." Dominic Shafiq commands, looking to Theseus from the corner of his eye, wand hand steady, pointed directly at Hermione.

_Danger. _Her mind screams, fingers tightening around the hilt of her wand, sliding a leg behind her as she gets into position, her fears finally coming true.

"Hermione Granger, I take it." Dominic focuses on the wild-haired woman, ignoring the Scamander brothers as he advances. Her wand sparks, Magic begging to retaliate, it does little to halt his approach.

"I must say, you and Mr. Scamander here are a tricky pair to find."

"And I must say, I'm a little disappointed that an entire task force isn't here to bring me in."

Dominic Shafiq laughs, the tension in his shoulders and stance melting away although his wand hand remains raised. He smiles broadly despite the exhaustion.

Hermione refuses to relax even for a second. Danger teasing her senses, radiating from the Auror.

"Did you _have _to use so much force?" She asks, an exasperated tone entering her voice.

"Admittedly, I may have used more force than necessary." He relents, wand hand relaxing slightly, never once moving his eyes from the potential threat. "It's been a stressful few months, and I honestly had no idea what was awaiting me behind this door." He looks to Theseus from the corner of his eye. "I was tracking Auror Scamander here and had no idea what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into."

Hermione glances at Theseus, seeing his somewhat bashful expression, a single brow raised in question.

"Now then, what do you say we take a little trip." At the Head Auror's words, Hermione sighs, fingers tightening around her wand once more.

_Not bloody likely. _She can't help but think, wand still at the ready, stance tense once more.

* * *

They had managed to avoid a duel, thanks to Theseus and Newt's timely intervention. They came to an agreement, Hermione eventually agreeing to be brought in, so long as the brothers could accompany her and she was allowed to keep her wand.

After fixing the entrance of Newt's apartment, they left as dawn began to break, hastily making their way to the Ministry. Once there, they headed straight for the Minister's Office. However, the Minister himself was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a plump sort of man with a bushy brown moustache met them in his stead.

_The Undersecretary. _Hermione's lips instantly curl at the title, once more reminded of the political climate during her time.

An argument then ensued, in which the Head Auror was forced to do damage control.

It would seem that no matter the time, no matter the place, the incompetence of those that ruled the Wizarding populace knew no bounds.

Hermione could do little more than groan at this unsurprising turn of events.

* * *

"I'll ask again, is she under arrest?" The Head of the Department of Mysteries repeats; the moustached man growing irritated with each passing second.

Hermione bites back a laugh as the Undersecretary stutters and starts, his plump face rapidly turning purple, bushy brown moustache quivering. From the corner of her eye, she watches as the Head Auror smirks, covering his mouth with a hand in an attempt to remain professional, despite the ridiculous conversation taking place before them.

"As I thought. Wouldn't do to go around arresting one of the new heroes of the Wizarding World now, would it?" The Department Head muses, undoubtedly amused with the situation. His deep dislike towards the Undersecretary shows through in the way he deliberately pushes his buttons.

It's quite obvious that most care not for this man or even the current acting Minister and his outrageous demands.

_Hector Fawley, Current Minister for Magic_. Hermione snarls, eyes darkening, a frown pulling at her lips.

Wizards, they never learned. No matter the time or place, those elected into office always had a terrible track record of being grossly incompetent and borderline dangerous. Was it so hard to elect a fair and intelligent Witch or Wizard into office here in Britain?

Within moments, Hermione and Newt were brought up to speed on the current state of the Ministry. The high-ranking bureaucrats were running around like headless chickens, barking orders left, right and centre while they sat comfortably in their safe offices, showing little shame for dragging the hard working Aurors away from their essential duties. All to save the Ministry's reputation.

_Nothing's changed in the least._

Hermione and Newt are heroes in the eyes of the public. It really would reflect poorly on the Minister if he had them arrested, just as the Department Head said. However, the Minister, himself, and many other high-ranking officials put little stock in public opinion, believing them to be nothing more than international troublemaking criminals, a pair of glory hogs who desired to undermine the great British Ministry of Magic.

Hermione groans in her mind once more, recalling the conversation they had only moments before as they made their way into the Department of Mysteries.

A prophecy had been made, yet no one could make sense of the exact date it had been spoken. The tag was smudged, and whatever information was recorded was eventually lost to time. However, a single name could be made out from the degraded tag, written in aged scrawl was—

"Hermione Jean Granger." A steady, age-weathered voice suddenly breaks through the disagreement, pulling Hermione from her thoughts and silencing the bickering men.

The group turns, watching the newcomers as they enter the room.

"Hermione will do or Ms. Granger, if you prefer." She relents, curious of the elderly wizard who had spoken. His long white beard and aged face reminding her very much of a certain Headmaster.

"Ms. Granger." He acknowledges with a slight nod of his head.

"Alfred Williams, Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies." The old man introduces, giving Hermione a short bow before directing her attention to the young woman at his side. "And this young woman is Branwen Jones, my assistant and the one present during the incident recorded months ago."

Hermione nods her head to both in greeting; Keeper Williams turns to the men.

"I believe you and the Minister were told that young Ms. Granger here, and whoever she chose to accompany her, were to be brought directly to me." Williams reprimands, sharply, a steely edge in his eyes.

The bumbling moustached man stutters, mouth opening and closing in a memorable impression of a purple-faced goldfish.

"More to the point, it is a well-known fact that the choice of who overhears any given Prophecy is left _solely _to the subject or subjects of said Prophecy. This is the Department of Mysteries _boy_, we bow to none. Although we may work within the Ministry, we care very little for the rule and laws that govern men, adhering only to those that align with our very own wants and needs." Silence envelopes them. Hermione quirks a brow, the corners of her lips pulling up.

"Ms. Granger." Keeper Williams addresses.

"Yes, sir?"

"Despite these facts, it is highly unlikely we will be able to get away with banishing the lot of them, given your recent well-known status and the current interest regarding your person. I am afraid you must choose one of these officials to join us as we overhear the prophecy, an Auror perhaps?" He says, his grey eyes taking on the slightest twinkle. "I will leave the choice in your capable hands." With those final words, he bows one last time and turns to leave with Ms. Jones hot on his heels. Together, they enter the darkened rows of the Hall of Prophecies, leaving Hermione to her decision.

* * *

Hermione takes a deep shuddering breath.

From the corner of Newts eye, he can see how uncomfortable she truly is. However, despite his dislike for her discomfort, there is little he can do at the moment. Lips thin and eyes narrow, the group make their way through the labyrinth of shelves within the hall.

"It was the oddest thing. After reporting the incident to Keeper Williams, my suspicions were confirmed. Never before, since the beginning of the Department had there been a similar incident." Branwen explains, her excitement palpable. She walks behind Hermione and Newt, arm looped through Theseus's own as the small group follows the Keeper leading them through the maze.

Keeper Williams had been correct. The Ministry, never one to leave any pie left untouched, refused to allow her to receive the Prophecy without the presence of one of their own. Between the two bickering idiots, Head Auror Shafiq and Theseus, there was no other choice.

_Should've made them make an Unbreakable Vow first. _Hermione sighs; well aware of the fact that she could do no such thing, brown eyes darting about the room as she fights against the wisps of memories, slowly forming within her mind, without her consent.

"It was beautiful and terrifying." A small smile pulls at Newt's face at the description. He glances to the troubled woman on his arm, curiosity filling him as he takes in her dazed expression. "The row was completely bathed in an ethereal blue light, brighter than any I had ever seen before. I was careful to avoid touching the orb myself and tried to read the tag, but much of the information was eroded, though I could make out one name: Hermione Jean Granger. At the time, I was confused. My research led me nowhere, it really - Right well, orbs began to shatter, one by one, prophecies unravelling right before my very eyes, erased permanently from the Fate's tapestry. I was terrified. I ran from the hall and didn't once stop until I reached Keeper Williams—"

"What day was that?" Theseus interrupts. Hermione's lips to turn down in a deep frown, his words barely registering through the fog clouding her mind.

"I-We believe it was the very same day that your brother and Ms. Granger here assisted in the defeat and capture of the international war criminal, Grindelwald."

Hermione and Newt freeze in their tracks as chills run down their spines. Realizing something's wrong, Theseus and Branwen abruptly stop. A startled cry tearing itself from the young woman's lips as she stumbles. Theseus catches her before she's able to fall into one of the glass filled shelves. He beams a charming smile as he helps her regain her footing, a smile that had caused many a witch to swoon and sigh before sending an exasperated look at his brothers back.

Suddenly his expression changes, alarm flooding his eyes as he remembers their earlier conversation.

The Keeper turns, a knowing expression on his face. Silently, he urges them to continue forward.

Within moments, they arrive at their destination, standing in front of one of the hundred identical rows of shelves.

The Prophecy taunts Hermione with its glowing blue flame as it dances within it's glass confines, the flame so very similar to her favoured bluebell spell. The group is silent, their anticipation and apprehension clear.

"You need only grab it." Keeper Williams intones.

"I know what to do." Hermione retorts, voice thick with emotion as the memories of her last visit to the Hall of Prophecies wages an unseen war within her mind, a haunted expression in her dark brown eyes.

With a shaking hand, she reaches out, fingers stopping a hairs breadth away.

Hermione flinches at the touch of a warm, calloused hand, slipping into her own laying limp by her side. She takes a quick glance to Newt out of the corner of her eye. The familiar, comforting warmth spreads from where their skin touches, relaxing and soothing her frayed nerves.

A soft sigh falls from her lips. The discreet scene witnessed only by a curious set of aged-grey eyes. Neither notice the glint of recognition as Hermione pushes forward, gently palming the glowing orb, holding it close to her chest.

_It's warm. _She notes as the flames within begin to swirl, milky white smoke obscuring the glow as an image takes form.

A pale young woman with bushy blonde hair sits within the orb, her eyes unseeing, lost in a trance. Her voice monotonous as she begins to speak, the eerie lilt breaking the silence that surrounds them.

_"Born of mud, she with the lion heart roars_

_The babe cries out as magic builds in her core_

_A childhood lost, a war to be won_

_There is much that must yet be done_

_A prophecy made, may yet come undone_

_For her journey through time has not yet begun" _

Hermione groans, her secret now revealed and out in the open. She prays to any who will listen that all those listening, here and now, know the meaning of _discretion _as Newt's fingers tighten around hers once more. The heat gathering there doing little to fight the chill that descends upon her heart.

_"Daughter of the future, thrown into the past_

_Must relive the time that is long gone and past_

_The red string of fate, spun and tethered_

_Embraces the witch, certain and unsevered_

_Linger not, dear child, for you must make haste_

_Do not let this chance go to waste_

_As Magic flares and sings, two shall become one_

_Yet do not try to outrun the sun_

_The Sun will set, and Dusk will fall_

_A song will be sung, the darkness will call" _

Theseus's brows vanish into his hairline, mouth falling open in shock as he connects the pieces, his alarmed blue eyes looking to the pair before him. Worry filling him to the brim as he examines his younger brother and the woman standing by his side, eyes falling on their joined hands. He forces down the lump in his throat, unaware of the woman beside him taking in his every expression and move, a curious expression filling her delicate features.

_"The Nemean Witch will find her mate_

_Gods have spoken and spun their fate_

_Anchored in time, magics bound_

_The flow of time has come unwound_

_Rewind, recast as events fray at the seams_

_The truth is not as it first may seem_

_Not all that has happened will come to pass_

_As the gathering darkness begins to amass_

_A call to arms as the darkness falls_

_The choice remains, if she answers its call_

_Heed thy warning, lest they fail_

_Not all can be changed, no matter the scale_

_There must be balance, a price to be paid_

_Lest the warrior witch be entirely unmade_

_Heed thy warning…_

_Born of mud, she with the lion heart roars" _

With those final, ominous words the orb grows dark, the image waning as the blue flame dims until finally it's snuffed out as though by a gentle breeze. The small globe grows cold in Hermione's hands. The creaking sound of glass cracking under pressure surrounds them before pops and shatters fill their ears.

All but Hermione and Newt search frantically for the noise, their companions fearful and alert with their raised voices, wands in hand.

An audible groan falls from her lips as she continues to stare into the now darkened orb.

"A prophecy. Of course, there's a _buggering _prophecy." She mumbles, catching Newt's attention, the two share a look. The prophecy tumbling from her hands as Newt pulls her into his chest, arms tightening about her waist. Hugging her close as she continues to mumble and curse. Their companions hush as they acknowledge them. Emotion from every end of the spectrum flit across their faces, the most prominent feeling: dread and trepidation.


	4. The Minister for Magic

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thank you to everyone leaving reviews! I do read them all even if I don't always reply :) It's nice to see all you new readers out there as well! I hope I can create a story you all enjoy! So i've written out chapter 10 now. Well the first draft at least so that's going well I think. Meaning all of the readers who have waited for me will have some new content pretty soon! Hopefully it doesn't dissapoint!

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone.

* * *

Hermione's silence was beginning to unnerve Newt.

It had been over an hour since they witnessed the prophecy and left the hall. Honestly, Newt didn't know how long they spent sequestered away in the chamber, but it seemed as though it had taken at least that long. Leaving the Hall of Prophecies, upon entering the Department of Mysteries central atrium, they were accosted by a group of Aurors, with Hector Fawley himself, leading them as the bumbling moustached man looked on with a gleeful expression.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries looked away, guilty, but his eyes stabbed piercing glares into the Minister and the Undersecretary. His opinion clear, sending an apologetic look to the returning group.

Noticeably, it seemed that Head Auror Shafiq, himself, was physically restrained by his subordinates, the very Aurors under his command with a pair of shackles, binding his hands in front of his body, an Auror hanging on either arm. His lip bloody and torn, as though their alteration had become quite physical.

Hermione stayed silent as the Aurors cautiously advanced. All of them giving their full attention to the bushy haired woman, vigilantly aware of her magical capabilities and duelling prowess. Newt was tempted to scoff, utter fools they were for ignoring the others in their group. Though, it would seem Hermione was their main target.

Keeper Williams and Ms. Jones were questioned by one of the Ministers underlings to the side. Their conversation becoming a stern reproach, which didn't appear to register much with either of the two, before shooing them away.

To the other side, Theseus was restrained and bound before having his wand confiscated, all the while looking to the Head Auror in question. He stopped resisting, accepting his fate with stoic grace after receiving a sharp look and the slightest shake of his head from Shafiq.

Newt couldn't help his rising worry and shock as they quietly and quickly restrained Hermione and him. She was strangely compliant during the arrest; an Auror seized their wands before leading them away into the busy halls of the Ministry. Newt's worry for the woman eating away at his senses.

Smartly dressed witches and wizards swiftly made way for the group. Stares, suspicion and whispers of gossip following their every step, and yet still Hermione said and did nothing, allowing herself to be pulled along by the arm, that dazed expression never once leaving her normally brilliant brown eyes.

The press would have a field day. Two high-ranking Aurors and the latest heroes of the Wizarding World, bound and shackled, paraded through the halls like bottom-barrel criminals.

Clearly, the Ministry was unaware of the definition of _discretion_. The Minister led the way, smiling to all those they passed, offering small waves as he put on his most charming front, completely ignoring the possible consequences of their actions if the press caught wind of their current predicament.

After months of comfortable peace, Hermione and Newt were thrust into the limelight once more. The Heroes of the Wizarding World Unmasked.

Those comforting, quiet days had met a rather tragic end.

It wasn't their day.

* * *

_It just isn't my day. _Tina Goldstein stares steadfastly ahead, refusing to meet Grindelwald's unsettling gaze.

She holds back a sigh as silence reigns in the room. The Aurors stationed beside her shift uncomfortably on their feet. Tina purses her lips, irritation painting her features as her eyes settle on Madam Picquery's back, who sits directly across the cold slab table from Grindelwald.

"Is there anything else you have to say for yourself, Mr. Grindelwald?" Madam Picquery asks, her weariness and exhaustion evident in her tone and body language.

The man in question only smirks in reply.

_We've been at this all night. _Tina thinks, a scowl curling her lips, her exhaustion catching up with her.

"In that case, I believe we've gleaned all we can from the prisoner." Madam President relents, with the smallest of sighs. She looks back to the gathered Aurors, nodding her head ever so slightly.

With that signal, Tina turns, tapping two sharp knocks on the reinforced, cool metal door.

The door swings open, and two women in white coats enter. A shard of fear shoots through Tina at the sight of them, clenching her fists and forcing herself to calm as they step past her into the room, attempting to remain stoic.

It doesn't work.

Grindelwald notes her discomfort, mouth pulling into a wide, toothy grin that stretches across his pale face.

Tina's heart quickens as Madam Picquery begins to list off his crimes, the words barely registering in her overworked and exhausted mind as memories threaten to consume her.

"I, hereby, sentence you to death." Madam Picquery's ends, not even a slither of feeling can be heard in her tone as her command echoes throughout the silence.

The executioners step forward, their shoes squeaking against the floor. The Aurors, bar Tina, standing by their sides. Together, the group raises their wands, every single one trained on Grindelwald as one of the executioners reaches for his arm.

Tina's breath catches, senses going haywire as she readies herself for a duel.

The shackles on his hands and feet creak and jingle as he stands, dragging across the floor in an eerie way. Grindelwald doesn't struggle as he's pulled from the room, looking back to Tina and Madam Picquery with an amused smirk, one final time before the door closes.

The door shuts behind them, a stillness falls over the room. Madam Picquery lowers her head into her hands, a small sigh escaping her lips. Tina attempts to relax.

Try as she might to soothe her frayed nerves, she can't do a thing. Dread and apprehension fill her to the brim.

_That was too easy. _She thinks, looking at the door, biting hard on her lips, brows furrowing in thought.

* * *

The assembled Department Heads and other high-ranking officials settle to the sides of the conference room, whispering quietly amongst themselves, curious gazes darting between the bound and shackled group of witches and wizards displayed like prized ponies in the centre of the floor.

The Minister and his Undersecretary sit alone against one of the walls, their triumphant expressions taunt their prisoners as they converse quietly, allowing the assembled group to gossip and speak as they wish, hoping to throw those bound and displayed off with their apparent disinterest.

_I never did care much for this pomp and pageantry the Ministry favoured. _Newt thinks with a soft sigh.

Newt and Hermione stand front and centre, side by side, shoulders touching. Newt purses his lips, irritation growing by the minute as the assembled crowd continues to gossip and point, some of the more prominent, pure-blooded members openly sneering in their direction.

He looks at Hermione from the corner of his eye, taking note of her still dazed expression.

_She's not even here. _He thinks, a deep frown settling across his handsome features before turning slightly to look to their companions.

_What was the Ministry thinking? _He questions, baffled by the current turn of events. A few feet away, Head Auror Shafiq and Theseus stand bound, fenced in by a handful of Aurors who look to be as uncomfortable with the current situation as they themselves do.

_Wizards. _Newt's lips, curve slightly at the thought, the small irate voice in his mind sounding frighteningly similar to Hermione's own.

* * *

Auror Holt, a young dark haired, American Auror can't help but think how lucky he is as he creeps along the perimeter of the run down little shack. Wand at the ready, he signals to his partner, and they make their approach.

The assignments received last night were divided into two task. Group one was assigned to guard duty at the MACUSA while the other, Holt's group was sent on a search and rescue mission, their target: Percival Graves.

Though Madame President and her trusted advisers were reluctant to divide their resources, considering the dangerous criminal they currently had imprisoned in the deepest depths of the MACUSA, they had little choice. From the very beginning, learning the fate of the real Percival Graves was of the utmost importance, second only to the interrogation, imprisonment, and eventual execution of the international criminal Gellert Grindelwald.

So here they were, over half of the Auror Corps remained at the MACUSA, a handful guarding Madame President and the prisoner while the rest were stationed throughout every inch of the Ministry, watching out for any acts of terror, public unrest and keeping an eye on all possible escapes.

There was little doubt in Auror Holt's mind and many others that today would, in fact, be the day that Gellert Grindelwald would finally meet his end. The weeks leading up to this point were incredibly tense, the lack of news regarding Grindelwald's fate beginning to cause anxiety, the public growing more and more uneasy and agitated with each passing day.

For as long as Grindelwald lived, the threat would be real, unlike much of the world, the MACUSA remained on high alert. The Americans refusing to believe that the extremely, dangerous wizard, held within the depths of the Ministry didn't have a backup plan, nor that his followers, terrorizing small parts of the world still, wouldn't try anything.

The longer he lived, the more dangerous it became. However, the protocol must be followed, and mysteries needed solving. Madame President refused to pass verdict until every drop of information could be wrung from Grindelwald's mind. Veritaserum hadn't worked, his mind seemingly protected, with that in mind they were forced to interrogate the man the old-fashioned way. The issue with this being the validity of his words. Nothing could be taken as straight fact. Every statement and word scrutinized to the extreme, and so days stretched into weeks and further into months. His interrogation continued.

The wizard was too loose-lipped; thus any of this words couldn't be simply taken at face value. It wasn't long before Grindelwald began talking and refused to stop, the final, seemingly relevant piece of information he supplied came five days before.

After researching, and going over a number of scenarios, a team of well-trained Aurors was dispatched. Auror Holt among them. Grindelwald's final words spurring them into action. Only days before, on a day like any other, the war criminal had finally given an answer to the question he had been asked time and time again since his capture.

_Where in the world was the real Percival Graves? _

Many believed the Head Auror to be dead, dead and hidden away in some far off, unmarked grave, though a few — the President — held out hope. It was discovered that Grindelwald was able to maintain Grave's appearance through the extremely skilled application of Human Transfiguration. However, many believed that there was no way he could have passed himself off as the man, taking into consideration personality and behavioural quirks if he hadn't first interrogated or held Graves prisoner all this time, carefully picking through his memories. It was noted that Gellert Grindelwald was, in fact, an extremely skilled Legilimens after an incident involving a rookie Auror stationed at his door.

Although chances were slim, a handful of officials agreed. The real Percival Graves could still be alive.

The second big assignment for the Corps was this; locating and the retrieval of Percival Graves, or whatever may remain of the once great man.

Holt was doubtful whether Graves could still be alive, but anything was better than spending another minute in the presence of that madman that the MACUSA had spent every day for months interrogating.

A good day indeed.

* * *

Hermione furrows her brows, still in a stunned stupor. The world around passing by in a blur that failed to register in her mind as her memories of days long gone past carried her back. The prophecy she heard replaying in her mind on a loop, in the background of her thoughts as it torments her.

_'My dear, from the first moment you stepped foot in my class I sensed that you did not possess the mind for the noble art of Divination.' Professor Trelawney confesses, holding Hermione's limp hand within her own, turning it over again and again as if searching for something. _

_Divination. _Hermione sneers, biting down hard on her lip, shaking her head ever so slightly in an attempt to clear her thoughts. She sighs as the memory continues, the never-ending loop of the prophecy playing once more.

_'See? Right there. You may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shrivelled as an old maid's, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.' She holds Hermione's hand, palm up as she points to a single line in her hand. _

_Gods I hate Divination, prophecies, Dark Lords, the lot of them. Damn them all. _Her mind whispers through the haze.

_Hermione breathes deeply, eyes fluttering shut, furious. Someone tries to console her, but her rising bout of anger makes her hostile. With a sharp, irritated tug, Hermione pulls her hand away, rising to her feet. Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she storms away, not caring of the crystal ball she knocks to the ground during her hasty exit, vowing to never again put any stock in Divination, prophecies or the supposed mysteries hidden within the tea leaves. _

Hermione Granger was never one to put much stock in divination, the fates or a higher being of any sort. Hermione Granger was a woman who liked facts, the true and tested, tangible results. She had little interest in Divination or prophecies. Her decision to take Divination in her third year still haunting her to this very day.

_After all the bloodshed and war, after all, I and those I cared for had been through, was it truly too much to ask that these supposed Fate's give me a break? _Hermione snarls, a shuddering breath falling from her lips as the fog of memories recede. The ominous prophetic hovers over her conscious, but she shoves it to the recesses of her mind, ignoring it for the time being. There are other matters at hand.

Bright brown eyes dart about the room, evaluating the situation. In Hermione's haze of shock and unadulterated unease, she was aware of the Minister's appearance before he paraded them through the halls, but just barely.

Over her shoulder, Hermione notes their companions bound and guarded behind them, Newt's warmth pressed into her side.

"A Muggleborn—" A not so quiet voice sneers from the gallery. Hermione's ear picks up on snippets of the conversations around them as the noise filters back in once more.

Her anger intensifies, irritation and growing rage with their current predicament finally making itself known. The day had just barely begun, and yet here she was, already nearing the ends of her wits.

Hermione's lips pull into a tight line as her gaze settles on the Minister, sat before her in an obnoxiously ornate chair, chest puffed out, amusement in his sneer, casually slouching as though he were some sort of beloved king. His bumbling Undersecretary sat by his side, a taunting sneer stretched across his plump little-moustached face.

_What a joke._

"Hermione—" Newt warns, taking note of her now alert gaze, anticipating her next actions, unease beginning to build within him.

"Hector Fawley, I presume?" Hermione begins, the conference room falling silent at her words. All eyes now focused on the wild-haired witch standing in the centre of the hall. "I must say your incompetence is alarming given the current climate of the Wizarding World. Have you no shame?" There's that Gryffindor recklessness again. Newt thinks as he lets a groan slip from his lips, closing his eyes as he tilts back his head, breathing deeply as the room fills with noise once more.

The level of noise, shouts, and screams of protest escalate. Newt opens his eyes just in time to see the Minister stand, Fawley's face flushes red, his Undersecretary begins to stutter and bumble once more.

_Fantastic. _Newt thinks, a long-suffering sigh falling from his slightly parted lips.

* * *

The Halls are empty. All Ministry personnel barred from their path as they make their way to the Execution Chamber, Aurors standing at attention, wands at the ready every few feet, their back pressed against the walls, expressions set.

Grindelwald walks slightly behind one of his Auror Escorts, an executioner on either arm, completely boxed in from all sides. The Aurors hold their formation with a number of wands pointed squarely at his head.

Despite his current situation, the wizard is completely serene, a calm and almost cocky aura exuding from his person, that consistent smirk stretched across his unsettling face.

With every passing second, they grow ever closer to the chamber, the hands of the clock ticks ever closer to his death. Yet, Gellert Grindelwald looks as though he's taking a leisurely stroll, as opposed to being lead to the Death Chamber, where he will soon meet his end.

* * *

Queenie Goldstein was rarely late, a fact she prided herself on, yet here she was striding through the bustling streets of New York City, the hem of her formal dress dancing behind her, heels clicking against the cobblestone road, late for work and in a hurry.

She weaves through the crowd, every step taking her closer to her destination. A mirthful expression on her beautiful face. A small giggle falling from her painted lips as she recalls last night's events and her much-awaited date with one Jacob Kowalski.

It was impossible to forget Jacob, try as she might, reminding herself of Tina's warnings and the laws regarding No-Maj and Wizard relations, but she just couldn't let him go.

She had waited until his bakery was up and running, walking by his shop off and on for weeks until she had finally worked up the nerve to enter. His reaction was adorable, his thoughts similar to those he had during their first true meeting, hand rubbing at his neck, a hint of remembrance dancing along the edges of his thoughts.

Queenie couldn't help it. Hermione's offer was running through her mind. She struck up a conversation. Law be damned. She openly flirted with the blushing man before inviting him on a date.

Queenie was positively giddy. Her happy mood was not to last, however, as suddenly her expression drops, a frown pulling at her lips as she looks around, perceptive grey-green eyes searching the crowd while she ascends the steps of the MACUSA, intent on entering through the Muggle entrance.

Finally, her eyes land on a casually dressed man standing a few feet away from the doors, she frowns as she picks up trails of his thoughts. A spark of fear travelling along her spine, quickening her pace as she approaches the man in the cloaked uniform standing guard at the door.

Queenie's mouth opens only to erupt into a scream that dies on her lips when the ground begins to shake. The glass doors of the MACUSA and the surrounding Muggle business attached shatters, glass spraying outwards as muggle and wizards alike are thrown to the ground.

An explosion which shakes the very foundation beneath their feet.

* * *

A glint of metal catches Tina's eyes, drawing her attention to the floor beside Grindelwald's empty seat. She steps forward, ignoring Madam Picquery's questioning gaze as she kneels by the edge of the table, shaking fingers finding purchase on the small silver pendant.

_What in the world— _She frowns, lips pulling into a tight line as she examines the piece.

It's perfectly polished, gleaming silver under the room's lighting. It's a medium-sized pendant, of a circle, bisected by a line which sits in the centre of a triangle, hanging from a thin silver chain.

Madam Picquery begins walking towards Tiina when she stumbles under the tremor. Both women's eyes shooting to the roof as a great quake rocks the foundation beneath their feet, a loud explosion detonates from somewhere above their heads.

The two women share an alarmed look, wands sliding into their hands. With a nod, Tina stands, pocketing the pendant before stepping protectively in front of the President, pulse hammering away in her throat, a cold sweat breaking out along her hairline.

* * *

Auror Holt watches, wand raised and ready, stance tense as the Lead Auror blasts the door of the rickety old shack wide open from its corroded hinges. The Aurors wait, holding their position and breaths as the dust settles.

Another Auror casts a few detection spells, checking the entrance before giving their leader a short nod. With that confirmation, they quietly enter the shack, wands raised and at the ready. Holt looks around eyes scanning the darkened shack.

"Sir!" He shouts, gaining his superior's attention.

Remaining in position, they approach the bound and bloodied form hidden away in a darkened corner. A soft curse falls from Holt's lips as his eyes fall on the bound form, recognition flashing in his eyes.

* * *

"Answer me!" Hector Fawley, Minister of Magic bellows, his face mere inches from Hermione's own, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on her face.

Hermione curls her lips in distaste, wishing her hands were free so she could wipe the spittle now coating her face. Beside her, Newt tenses, their bound companions and the assembled crowd silent as the Minister continues his tirade.

"Hermione who?" He sneers, his words another laughable attempt to push her over the edge.

"Hermione Jean Granger." She drawls in her best imitation of the Malfoy Heir in a typical pureblood manner, her patience with the man and this damned Ministry completely obliterated.

Newt winces, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as the Minister begins to sputter at her words, Newt can only imagine what his older brother thinks of the entire scene. Knowing Theseus, despite looking entirely neutral with a perfected professional mask firmly in place, standing straight and at attention, there was surely scathing remarks and laughter playing on a loop in his mind. The slightest sliver of amusement noticeable only in his eyes and to those who know what to look for.

Newt's, of course, correct. Theseus stands bound, besides Head Auror Shafiq. The other man well aware of his subordinate's thoughts. Both men were exuding a cool and professional front, though their amusement is apparent if one does, in fact, know where to look.

The Minister looks ready to hex the young time travelling woman, wand clutched tight in hand, as his Undersecretary stalks forward, his bushy moustache quivering, once more doing a spot on impression of a purple-faced goldfish.

"The _Veritaserum_, bring me the Veritaserum _now_!" The Minister spits, fingers tightening around the hilt of his wand as he turns away, running a frenzied hand through his greying hair.

One of his underlings rushes forward, a small vial in hand as another shoves a seat behind Hermione, knocking her on her arse.

Newt's eyes widen in fear as he looks to Hermione, dread filling him to the brim, but Hermione does nothing more than glare defiantly from her seated position, lips pressed in a firm line, an angry flush colouring her cheeks.

Anyone could tell that this wasn't going to go well.

* * *

Queenie groans, ears ringing. She lifts her head, fingers poking and prodding her hairline, groaning once more as she pulls her fingers away, looking at them with blurred sight, noticing the sticky, warm, blood now staining her fingers.

Chaos. Utter chaos all around as her eyes fight to come into focus. People lay groaning, and crying, covered in blood, glass, metal and stone lay about them. Some fled the scene, mouths opening and closing as though they're shouting or screaming, but Queenie can't hear a thing. The uniformed guard lays still before the now exposed entrance, a puddle of blood surrounding him.

The ringing in her ears slowly begins to fade, screams and cries beginning to filter through, she notes an alarm is going off in the distance.

_Grindelwald. _The single name filters through her mind, attempting to pull herself to her feet. A wave of nausea hits her, falling forward on her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the pavement below.

* * *

Wands at the ready, Tina and Madam Picquery make their way through the now ruined halls of the Ministry.

Tina coughs, unable to muffle the sound as the dust and debris irritate her lungs. Squinting her eyes, she notices the group of bodies lying still on the ground a few feet ahead of them.

Cautiously they approach, fear blasting through her body when her brown eyes register the gruesome scene; blood pools beneath some of the bodies while others lie completely untouched, seemingly killed by a spell as opposed to the partial cave-in or explosion.

Her breath catches, noting their uniforms and faces. She waves her wand over them. A diagnostics spell.

_All dead. _She notes in a mechanic tone.

Tina looks about frantically, intelligent and alert brown eyes canvassing the hall.

"Grindelwald has escaped." Madame Picquery begins from behind her. Tina turns, a curious look on her face as she takes in the small blue cloudy form floating before the President. "Alert the away team. Call all uninjured and available personnel. He must be found. Inform the International Ministries and call a meeting. Quickly, we have no time to lose." With those final words the ball of blue light shoots off, they share another look.

* * *

The Undersecretary curses and groans as Hermione's foot connects with the clothed, tender flesh between his legs.

_Should have bound her legs. _Newt snickers, pride warming him through with the slightest of smiles curving his lips, despite his fear for the woman building.

They didn't even bother taking a vote, resorting to questioning Hermione in such a way. They would have answers. The way in which they were extracted them from the witch meant little to them, as did the apparent legality of their methods it would seem.

"Stun her you fool!" The Minister shouts at the groaning, purple-faced man.

Newt furrows his brows as he takes note of Hermione mumbling quietly under her breath. Narrowing his eyes as he focuses on her softly spoken words as the Undersecretary slowly pulls himself to his feet.

"Come on, Granger." She mumbles quietly; a small metallic click registering in Newt's hearing as her lips curve up. "That's it, if you can escape from Gringotts on the back of a blind, angry dragon, you're capable of getting out of anywhere."

Newt's brows vanish into his hairline, mouth falling open in shock as a number of things happen all at once.

Her bindings drop to the floor with a quiet clank as the Undersecretary stands, wand pointed directly at her face, the first syllable of a stunning spell just beginning to leave his lips.

Wasting no time, Hermione throws herself to the side, her body colliding with Newt's, knocking the breath right out of him, sending the pair tumbling to the floor. Their bodies pressed tight, breathing in synch, Hermione straddling his waist as the stunning spell is loosed from the Undersecretary's wand.

The blue light shoots from his wand, whipping through the space where Hermione was only moments ago. The Undersecretary's eyes widen as they fall on the young, frazzled woman just entering the hall from the back of the room.

"Minister, an urgent message has—" She begins before the stunner connects, sending her flying into a wall, knocking her unconscious.

"A dragon?" Newt asks, an excited and curious glint in his eyes as he looks into Hermione's brilliant brown eyes, a small smile playing along the edge of his lips.

A sharp laugh tears from her lips as a handful of Aurors rush to the unconscious newcomer. Sending a gentle smile to Newt, she makes quick work of his binds using muggle methods before helping him to his feet, standing protectively before him much to his irritation.

"—arrived." The young woman groans as the Aurors revive her. "Grindelwald, he's escaped."

And with those final words noise fills the hall once more as the room descends into chaos.

* * *

In a seedy, dimly lit bar in the depths of Knockturn Alley, a few patrons sit alone at the small tables, Albus Dumbledore is among them.

Albus can't help but examine the young man at the bar. The young wizard cuts an attractive figure in his long, dark overcoat.

The young man turns, unusually dark eyes darting about the room as though looking for something. Albus notes the silvery mass of scars stretching across the one side of his face. Clearly, the young wizard was not ashamed of his scars, collar folded down and midnight-black hair pulled back.

Finally, the barkeep moves to attend to the young man, nodding to him in greeting, a sceptical and suspicious glint in his eyes.

When the young man whispers, Albus strains to hear the discreetly spoken words, taking note of the wizards obviously American accent. From the corner of his intelligent blue eyes, he notices that he isn't the only patron listening in.

"I'm looking for Newt, Newt Scamander." The young man says, his stance taking on a slightly defensive edge when the barkeep replies with a loud and boisterous laugh.

The Barkeeps voice easily carries throughout the room, catching the attention of all the bars occupants.

"You and everyone else." The Barkeep laughs with a condescending smile on his face. "Next you'll say you're looking for that mysterious Ms. Granger all of the papers have been speculating about."

A few of the patrons laugh darkly. The boy looks about, his fathomless, black eyes meeting Albus's own.

The young boy mumbles something under his breath, dropping a few coins onto the bar top then turns to leave. Albus's eyes follow the young man's path as he makes a hasty exit, alert blue eyes focusing on the glint of a silver pendant as it falls from the collar of his shirt.

_The Deathly Hallows. _His eyes widen in recognition, tossing a few coins onto the table, nodding at the bartender before following the young man out.

He'd recognize that symbol anywhere, old memories of his relationship with Grindelwald fighting their way to the surface as he looks out into the quiet street, quickly spotting the young man as he turns a corner and disappears out of sight.

Dumbledore rushes along the streets stalking the young man, eager to learn of how the boy had come to be in possession of such a symbol.

* * *

An elderly man with greying hair strolls out from the MACUSA and onto the chaos filled, streets of New York City. Whistling a jaunty little tune as he passes, frighteningly out of place in the wake of the disaster that had occurred only moments before.

From her position on the ground, Queenie takes note of the man, their eyes meeting, a smile stretching along his lips as he nods in greeting before making his way to the casually dressed man who's surprisingly unharmed.

Queenie's eyes widen, a jolt of recognition filling her at the sight of the two men meeting. The casually-dressed man gripping the others arm before a crack of thunder fills the air along with the aftermath of the chaos, the pair swiftly Apparating away. No one else notices, far too occupied with the destruction at hand.

"Tina." Her sister's name is the quietest whisper, voice drowning in the noise surrounding her.


	5. To Hell with Propriety

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thanks for the reviews guys! I love reading them :) Anyone else feeling some chemistry between Theseus and Shafiq in this chapter? Just me? ... i'm pretty sure i'm thinking of this chapter.

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone.

* * *

Hermione can hardly resist the urge to roll her eyes as she watches the Minister and Undersecretary flail about the room, voices raised, skin stained red and purple as they bellow to the assembled members within the conference room, attempting to bring order back to the meeting.

The knowledge of Grindelwald's escape unnerved her, sending a spike of worry through her senses but she was far more concerned about their current predicament and the obviously unstable parliament of the late 1920s.

She sighs, taking a quick glimpse of Newt out of the corner of her eye; he's shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot, eyes darting between his brother and her. A sliver of guilt creeps along her spine, and her expression softens a hint.

_All my fault. _Her subconscious whispers. Taking advantage of the distracted Minister, Hermione turns on her heal swiftly heading to the back of the conference hall.

The Aurors surrounding Theseus and Shafiq mask their surprise underneath duel ready stances, wands held firmly in their hands.

As she nears, Newt hot on her heels, Hermione stops a few feet away with raised hands, showing that she means no harm.

Theseus looks at her like she's mad; she's tempted to roll her eyes in retort.

The Aurors shift uncomfortably, eyes darting about the room looking at anyone but her. Head Auror Shafiq looks disappointed at his subordinates lack of spine.

_Can't say I blame him._

Eventually, one of them fathers the courage to step forward. Hermione sizes him up, noting his weary gaze and the noticeable bags under his eyes.

"Apologies, Ms. Granger," He says with the slightest of nods, eyes flickering over to Newt, "Mr. Scamander. Although we don't agree with the Minister's orders, we cannot allow you to leave the hall."

His fellow Aurors slide beside him, wands aimed at both Hermione and Newt.

_At least they've recognized he's a threat as well. _She tsks.

"That's fair. However, I'm not leaving. I would, on the other hand, advise against shackling Newt or me again." She says with a quirk of her brow, steady gaze sliding over each one of them.

"Why is that?" A young Auror asks with a surly, sneer curving his thin lips.

Her lips curl into a smirk as she meets the surly young Auror's gaze head-on.

"I'll just pick them again and do the same for Newt." She states, restraining a sigh as Theseus seems to be on the verge of laughing; eyes pulled tight, mouth twitching like a rabbit's nose as his shoulders shake. "More to the point, why are two of your own shackled and bound?" She asks, voice steady.

The older man, the appointed leader slides his wand back into his the holster, deciding that Newt and Hermione would keep their word. One by one, the rest of the Aurors follow their impromptu leader's example, though a handful still hold their wands steadfast in their hands.

"Orders, ma'am."

"Fawley's?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Of course." Some of the men's lips twitch at her exasperated tone. "Auror Scamander here I can understand. After spending some time with the man, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's a troublemaker, not to mention his relation to Newt. But Shafiq, here, is your Head Auror. Why, in the name of Merlin, was he bloody and bound when we returned to the Main Atrium?"

Theseus' urge to laugh overwhelms him, choking as he attempts to speak.

"Oh, Granger—" He begins, but one dark look from Shafiq silence him.

The older Auror clears his throat, tired eyes falling to the floor as he begins his tale.

* * *

_Idiots. They're a bunch of idiots. _Fleamont Potter sighs, leaning back into his seat, taking in the chaos around him, more than content to watch The Ministry tears itself apart.

_No wonder Grindelwald had escaped if the MACUSA was anything like the MOM. _He relents, running a hand through his impeccably styled hair. His sigh drowning underneath all the shouting and screaming around him which is growing louder with each passing minute.

Fleamont doesn't care about The Ministry or his Wizengamot seats. He curses the day his father retired and thrust the responsibility and position as Head of the House onto him. Honestly, he'd much rather spend his days, sequestered in his laboratory, tweaking the already wildly popular and perfect formula of his Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, currently taking the world by storm.

Despite his younger brother's age, Charlus would have been a much better choice. He practically exuded confidence, possessed a skilled silver-tongue and could charm the panties off of any witch he set his brilliant hazel eyes on, much to their parent's irritation. Charlus had always showed his interest in the Wizengamot position and found the politics exciting, but he was only in his fifth year at Hogwarts. Thus Fleamont was simply biding his time, counting down the days until he could legally hand the title over to his younger brother.

_Just a few more years. _He groans; scanning the room, his eyes fall on the wild-haired witch and her companions knee-deep in discussion with the Aurors at the back of the hall.

He quirks a brow, suddenly intrigued.

_Now there's something interesting. _When Fleamont was called in for the impromptu meeting this morning, he had thought little of it, thinking it would be yet another long-winded discussion about the latest heroes of the Wizarding World — The Ministry's current obsession. Another two-hour meeting of the Minister and his closest confidants, moaning and whining about their inability to find them… again.

Imagine his surprise when Fleamont arrived to find, not only the Wizarding World's heroes but also Head Auror Shafiq and Auror Scamander, shackled and bound centre-stage.

_The Minister, the biggest idiot of them all. _After parading them through the halls like prized animals with that self-satisfied, smug, cat-caught-the-canary smile on the Minister's face, there's no doubt the press had already caught wind their new heroes' predicament.

The public would not be pleased, then again, their favour was always a fickle thing. Together, with the most recent news of Grindelwald's escape, their latest heroes may very well be stripped of their titles. Ms. Granger's identity would be placed under scrutiny and without the public acting as a buffer, the press, and the Ministry would relentlessly demand the truth or whatever they may eventually deem to be truth from the mysterious woman.

With a shake of his head, Fleamont returns his attention to the hall. His dark hazel eyes falling on Abraham Longbottom, a man a handful of years his senior and a well-respected Wizengamot member.

_It would seem that i'm not the only one who's interested in the mysterious Ms. Granger and Co._

A sudden thrill of excitement rushes through Fleamont, lips curving into a smile.

_Perhaps our meeting is about to get a bit more interesting._

* * *

"So, you're telling me that Head Auror Shafiq here called the Minister a pompous prick—" Hermione asks a bemused look on her face as her dark brown eyes bore into Auror Shafiq's somewhat hunched form. "At which point the Minister and his Secretary demanded he stand down and allow them to pass to eavesdrop on the prophecy. Shafiq refused so you were ordered to subdue him? Is that right?"

"Yes." The older man sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired face, clearly used to his superior's attitude but completely exhausted by the day's events.

"Why the bloody lip, though?" Newt asks from her side, drawing the attention of all those assembled.

The older man blinks, having forgotten Newt's presence. Hermione flushes, shame filling her, realizing the same.

Someone at the back of the group clears their throat, Hermione's eyes fall on a young man, noticing of his black eye, understanding hits her.

"We were able to get his wand off of him, but that did little to stop him from resorting to more… physical means."

Pride swells within Hermione's chest with a mad little giggle bubbling just behind her lips as her eyes finally meet Shafiq's own.

_I like him. _She smiles, running a hand through her dishevelled hair.

"Well, the past is the past. The Head Auror seems calm enough. He was simply voicing the unvoiced opinions of much of the Wizarding populace. Honestly, with the most recent news, I'd say we have a much bigger problem than the Ministry's hissy fit and Auror Shafiq's actions." She turns back to the group, eyeing each Auror. "So, what do you say, release them and why don't we do something about these pompous wizards seeing reason."

* * *

Frustration plagues Fleamont, sinking deeper into his seat, eyes fluttering shut, attempting — in vain — to block out the pandemonium around him.

_BANG!_

The room falls silent immediately. Thank the Fates. Startled, his eyes snap open, torso flying forward as he looks about the room.

There, smack in the middle of it all is Ms. Granger and her companions, a handful of Aurors, standing around them.

Exhilaration rages through his system, at the sight of her amused smirk. His hazel eyes flicker over to the Minister. Fleamont raises a brow at the Minister's swollen, red face and dishevelled hair.

* * *

"You little—" Fawley breaks the silence, advancing towards the group of misfits with his purple-faced Undersecretary following close behind.

"Enough." A firm voice booms from the side of the hall, halting the Minister in his tracks, and drawing everyone's attention. It's an older gentleman, standing up against him.

The Minister froths, an inch away from protesting. He glances around the room, makes quick work of his disheveled appearance as regains his composure.

Hermione wants to coax the man into another fit of fury, reveal to the masses the true face of the buffoon they've elected.

"Hector James Fawley, I've known you since you were a boy. A charismatic young man, yes, but always so quick to anger. You gained a relatively high approval rating as Minister, but in recent months you've allowed your arrogance and greed for prestige and fame to cloud your senses."

The Minister indignantly sputters, cheeks flushing in anger.

The older man holds his hand up, signalling him to remain silent.

"This has gone on for far too long. Your actions today and in the previous months have brought shame upon the Ministry and everything we've worked for. What charges do you bring against the accused?"

The Minister paralyses in shock, mouth opening and closing, the action reminiscent of a codfish.

"They were resisting arrest! They're criminals!" A man shouts from the Gallery.

Hermione bites back a groan, recognizing the sneering face of the British Envoy she had met months ago, forever engraved in her mind.

"And _she—_" He slurs with so much venom that he may as well have said 'Mudblood' instead. "—attacked a high-ranking Ministry official, _twice_—"

"And they've been cleared of all charges Podmore. Madame Picquery of MACUSA, herself, pardoned them of all crimes during their time in New York. 'No harm, no foul' as the Muggle saying goes." The man pauses, his thin lips curving up into a small smirk scrutinizing Podmore's reactions. "More to the point, that 'high-ranking official' you repeatedly mentioned was, in fact, Grindelwald in disguise. If anything, they should be rewarded for their actions, not punished."

The silence that meets his statement is telling, some of the assembled members refuse to meet the older speakers gaze while others alternate between sneering at Hermione and Newt and the man in question.

"Why don't we do away with the pretence. You see, Mr. Scamander here is seen as nothing more than a mad fool. Ms. Granger, on the other hand, is a – Oh, what is that word you're so very fond of Podmore? Ah - Yes, Mud-"

"That's enough, you've gone too far, Longbottom!" The Minister fumes, suddenly making his presence known once more, spittle flying from his mouth.

Hermione's eyes alight with recognition; her mouth gapes in shock, brows flying into her hairline as she stares at the older man within the gallery.

_Oh, Neville. _She can't help but think, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes; a hysterical giggle building inside her chest.

"No. it is you who've crossed the line, as did many others in this very room. What you did in the Department of Mysteries; overriding protocol and arresting, not only these two young people but two high-ranking, well-respected Aurors. All because they refused to yield. Putting them on trial when no crime had been committed, to salvage your dignity and sate your curiosity and greed. None but those named in a prophecy, those chosen to accompany them and the Keeper, himself, are permitted to hear the words. And yet Ms. Granger was forced to select a Ministry employee to accompany her, and that still was not enough. You have overstepped beyond your jurisdiction. By calling us to session, hoping to pry the prophecy from her lips through questionable means goes against the very laws we uphold."

"The – I—" The Minister stutters.

"No," Longbottom stresses, his voice reverberating throughout the chamber, silencing the Minister as he flinches. "They have committed no crimes. The words were meant for her ears, and hers alone. Ms. Granger is well within her rights to extract an _Unbreakable Vow _from all those she was forced to share the prophecy with. Moreover, she owes you _nothing_. Mr. Scamander and her brought down the greatest war criminal of our time. His recent escape is of no consequence to their circumstances. You are wasting our time and have abused the Ministry's resources for far too long. This ends now. Your vendetta against them ends in this very room!"

"S-She has no records! She could be a spy for Grindelwald for all we know!" The British Envoy challenges, drawing the attention of the room and returning the focus back to Hermione.

"I doubt that even the most devoted spy would physically assault their esteemed leader. _Twice_, all in the name of keeping up appearances." Longbottom scoffs. "As for her records, that's hardly unusual in this day in age. In recent years, a large number of undocumented immigrants have flooded into the U.K. Furthermore, Muggles either have chosen or were forced to give birth at home. Undocumented births, lost records, and files. This is the reality of our times. The girl can hardly be blamed for something out of her control."

Murmurs fill the hall, some members nodding in agreement.

"Now I put forward the motion that we release Ms. Granger, Mr. Scamander, Auror Scamander and Head Auror Shafiq and expunge them of all charges. I suggest we divert our focus to the more pressing matters at hand — the escape of Gellert Grindelwald. Who seconds this motion?"

"I, Fleamont Potter, second this motion." A loud masculine voice agrees from the crowd. Hermione stares with wide eyes at the man in question; a surprised squeak falling from her lips.

The men look at her, confused, whereas Newt looks on knowingly.

Hermione meets Fleamont Potter's curious gaze as more voices fill the room until finally the motion is passed.

* * *

_Potter. Longbottom. Who's next? A Weasley? _A small hysterical giggle escapes from her lips as Newt enters the room.

He raises a brow in question, handing the steaming cup of tea to her before settling in beside her on the transfigured love seat.

The verdict passed with a majority; they were cleared of all charges. However, Fawley got one final hit in when he revoked Newt, and by extension Hermione's travel rights. A crushing blow for the Magizoologist. They could of course make an appeal at any time though it was rather obvious that any appeal would be met with resistance. Theseus was given a reprimand, a small slap on the wrist for his insubordination, then handed over to his superior for punishment. After saying their goodbyes, they left and a quick floo trip later, Hermione and Newt returned to his apartment, making quick work of recasting their wards before settling in.

"Do you know Longbottom?" She asks, turning to Newt, the cup of tea clutched tightly in her hands as she curls her legs under her body.

"Mmm," Newt hums, wincing slightly as the scalding hot tea bites his tongue. "Abraham Longbottom, I've met him before." The statement hangs in the air, Hermione's brows furrow as questions come to mind.

_Abraham Longbottom. _The name rolls around her mind, she tries to pinpoint him in Neville's family tree, but can't. Regrettably, she had done little research into the Longbottom family after learning the fate of Neville's parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom.

"Hmmm, perhaps a great grandfather—" She muses, eyes unfocused as she relives the days long gone and past, staring steadfastly into the wall across the room.

Newt sighs, setting his cup of tea to the side, his mind is a mess as millions of thoughts and emotions wage an unseen war within him. He clears his throat, gaining Hermione's attention, pulling her away from the past. He looks on apprehensively.

"Hermione." His voice trembles as her name fall from his lips, blue falling on her tired brown. "I think it's time that we talked about New York."

She raises an eyebrow, her mind blissfully quiet as she gazes into the depths of his eyes.

"Ah - the kiss and what we've recently learned." He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck with a freckled hand, chin tilted down, looking at her through long lashes as he worries his lip.

Hermione can do little more than sigh in reply.

* * *

Theseus quirks a brow, rubbing at his wrists as he leans against the wall of the Head Auror's office. Curious blue eyes following Dominic Shafiq's every move.

The Head Auror's pacing like a caged lion along the length of his office, mumbling to himself under his breath.

Eventually, he stops, his quiet murmurs coming to an end. Dark brown meet a light blue; a soft sigh falls from his lips as he returns to his desk, groaning slightly when he drops into the plush chair, elbows landing on the table, head in hands.

Theseus pushes himself off of the wall, standing straight and at attention, hands folded behind him. He steels himself for the verbal beat-down coming his way, apprehension intensifying with each passing second.

Minutes pass, the hands of the clock ticking away, a suffocating silence filling the room as Dominic looks out of the window, running a single hand through his close-cropped hair.

Theseus clears his throat, catching his attention.

_Now you've done it, Scamander. _Theseus thinks in derision. Shafiq turns, a hard look in his familiar brown eyes.

It had been years since they first met in Hogwarts. Dominic was in his sixth year, while Theseus was in his third, but that look was frighteningly familiar. Wisps of memory manifest in his mind, enticing him to take a trip back in time.

With a shake of his head and a deep breath, he clears his mind, meeting Dominic's gaze. Watching, waiting, dread growing stronger with each passing second.

* * *

The doorbell chimes. Jacob looks up from behind the counter, a broad grin stretching across his face as his eyes light up in recognition at the sight of Queenie.

She gives him a small quivering smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes in greeting. Jacob's face falls, moving from behind the counter and rushing forward, just in time to catch the beautiful, young witch as her knees give out.

Alarm and trepidation race through him as he holds Queenie close, soft curves and shaking shoulders pressing against his body. He reaches behind her to flip the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed' before locking the door and pulling shut all the blinds, never once letting go of the young fair-haired woman.

"Jacob—" His name, softly spoken, draws his confused, dark gaze to her red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes.

"Oh Sweetie, we need to talk." Queenie whimpers, a single shaking hand raising up to lay on his cheek.

Anxiety fills his heart, eyes widening a fraction, mouth dropping open in shock and fear.

"Oh no, no. Not like that." She says with a hint of laughter as the tears begin to fall down her face.

* * *

_This just isn't my day. _Hermione sighs. Setting her tea aside, she angles her body towards Newt, facing him head on as apprehension and anxiety escalate within her.

"Do we have to?" She asks, rubbing a hand over her tired, drawn face. She's not exactly in the mood to have this conversation at this moment.

"Yes." His voice is firm, the single word brokering no argument. "We can't keep dancing around this topic like a bunch of teenagers that fumbled their way through their very first kiss."

Hermione snorts in reply, shoulders relaxing as she drops her hands into her lap, amused brown eyes meeting Newt's calm and steady stare.

"Very well."

* * *

"Dominic—" Theseus begins, the silence gnawing at his senses, shifting awkwardly, the tension and anxiety evident in his body language.

"Head Auror Shafiq."

"Fine." He drawls with a hint of exasperation. "Head Auror Shafiq then, do you plan on saying anything soon or should I just let myself out—"

The Head Auror turns, slamming his hands onto the shining wooden top of his well-used desk.

Theseus raises a brow at his minor outburst.

Shafiq sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a few calming breaths, hoping to settle his building rage.

"Do you have _anything _to say for yourself?"

"No." He replies confidently, completely aware of his defiance and willing to accept any punishment deemed fair for his insubordination.

"Very well," Shafiq concedes, flipping a book open to make a note. "Effective immediately, you are assigned to desk duty for the next two weeks."

Theseus merely quirks a brow at the light sentence but accepts nonetheless, inclining his head slightly, he pivots on his heel and wraps a hand around the cold metal doorknob.

"Theseus," Shafiq begins, "Why?"

Theseus pauses, glancing over his shoulder and meeting Shafiq's eyes, lips drawn down into a small frown.

"Are you asking as Head Auror Shafiq, my boss, or as Dominic Shafiq, my old friend?"

Shafiq sighs, expression softening as he continues to hold Theseus's gaze.

"I'm asking as your friend." Theseus looks down to the ground, fingers flexing around the cool metal.

"He's my brother, and I was worried." With that he lets himself out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

* * *

Queenie and Jacob sit alone in the back room of the bakery as silence reigns over them. She tries to gather her thoughts as Jacob silently takes in the shaken woman before him. Alert brown eyes noticing the spots of blood on her collar and in her hair.

His breath hitches, anxiety, and fear continuing to build.

"Is your sister alright?" He asks in a rush, brows furrowing in thought and confusion.

_How did I know she had a sister? _He questions himself, thinking back to their date the night before. Not once, had they discussed their families, favouring more light-hearted topics instead.

Queenie's watery eyes widen in shock as their gazes meet, her mouth dropping open ever so slightly.

_'The Venom only erases bad memories, Jacob.' _The memory of Hermione's softly spoken words on that day instantly come to Queenie's mind, catching trails of Jacob's thoughts.

Despite everything that had happened today, fearing for her sister's life and the horrors heading their way, Queenie couldn't suppress the excitement that sparked within her then. Jacob's words igniting the ever-growing fire building within her heart.

Feeling emboldened, Queenie reaches out, delicately taking Jacob's hands within her own. The confused man looks to her in question. A soft smile pulls at Queenie's lips.

"Jacob Kowalski. There is only one like you." She says, grey-green eyes shining as her fingers tighten around his own. "Not all is as it seems, so very much was taken from you." The quiet words seem as though they're spoken for herself.

"Would you like to hear a story, the story of how we really met?" She asks with a devilish smile.

In that very moment, Jacob can't think of anything he'd like better than to listen to her. Despite his confusion, he agrees, completely enthralled by the young woman sat before him.

"Once upon a time—"

* * *

_Why is this so hard? _Newt thinks as he runs a trembling hand through his already messy red-brown hair, tongue swiftly darting out from between his lips as he attempts to gather his thoughts.

"You think your brother was onto something?" Hermione asks, her mellow voice terminating his frenzied inner monologue.

"I – Ah – Pardon?" Newt apologizes, pulse quickening, and feeling very much like a schoolboy caught kissing a girl behind the Greenhouses.

"The kiss, the prophecy, magically bound..." Hermione clarifies, an attractive blush settling across her lightly freckled cheeks.

"Ah," Despite his own discomfort and embarrassment, Newt smiles in reply.

"I – Ah - Did you notice anything when we kissed?" Hermione asks, barely above a whisper as her eyes dart to the floor. "O-Or after?" She rushes to say, voice catching slightly. Hermione sorely wishing for the floor to open up and swallow her whole, anything to save her from the awkward conversation that must now be had.

"When you have nightmares," He begins; Hermione's eyes shoot to his own, quirking her brows in question with a hard glint in her eyes. However, Newt doesn't seem the least bit concerned with her gaze, pushing forward despite the bright blush steadily spreading across his cheeks.

"Sometimes, your Silencing Charms falter. I hear you screaming out, and I can't very well leave you alone. The first - the first time I heard you, I rushed to your door only to find it heavily warded. I was blasted into the wall." Newt explains, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, looking up at her from beneath his lashes.

Hermione blushes even deeper, biting her lip in thought.

"After I recovered, I tentatively reached out with my magic, in an attempt to work out what exactly you had done to the wards, trying to find a way in, anything - I—" He stutters, a strong freckled hand reaching out to cover her own.

At his touch, Pleasure and tremors rush through Hermione; her breath catches ever so slightly as warmth builds where their bare skin meets.

"I'd do anything to silence those cries." He relents with a soft sigh, fingers flexing as they twine with her own. "I'd do anything for _you_." He elaborates.

Newt clears his throat, attempting to set himself right and muster up a little bit of Gryffindor courage to continue his tale.

"As Theseus said, there was little resistance, your magic mingling with my own, accepting it, lightly caressing—" He bites his lips, Hermione's eyes hungrily drinking in his every move. "I dismantled your wards easily and have done so since. N-Nothing untoward happened, but I - well I'd hold your hand while you slept, sitting beside you until the nightmares subsided. I'd hoped to comfort you in your time of need."

Hermione's emotions rise and crash within her like a great swell crashing against the cliff-face, heart pounding, breath catching, the heat gathering in her cheeks and hand threatening to overwhelm her as she unconsciously leans forward.

"And this." He begins, lifting their now twined hands. "Touching you is no longer as overwhelming as it was. I'm in control of my senses. My mind's entirely intact, and yet - I can't help but want _more_. This warmth within, it consumes me. Every single touch we share, the slightest of brushes warms me to my core, threatening to overwhelm my senses."

They're so close now. The gap between them is disappearing by the second. Hermione can see how his chest rises with uneven breaths, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows reflexively as though his mouth has run dry. She understands. Her own mouth feels as dry as the Sahara, tongue feeling rougher than sandpaper as it scrapes against the roof of her mouth.

"It frightens me." He admits, their faces so close that his breath dances across her lips. "Everytime we touch, I fear I'll lose myself. The world slowly falls away, an unwavering hunger making its presence known, pushing until finally the tenuous grasp on my emotions snaps and I do something that we both regret."

Their eyes meet in a swirl of blue and brown, breath falling into sync as their magic pulses faintly in the air.

Neither dare to break the silence in the room. The sounds from the creatures in the basement below filtering through their ears. With the softest of sighs, Hermione cups Newt's face in her hand, smoothing her fingers along the curve of his smooth jaw. A sliver of fear creeps along her spine; she bites her lip, losing herself in thought.

"An experiment perhaps," She mutters lowly.

Without asking for permission, he leans in and brushes his lips against hers in a ghost of a kiss.

* * *

"You have to understand. The laws are _absolute. _Here, in America, relations between Wizards and No-Maj are strictly prohibited. It's a matter of national security. You weren't allowed to remember." Queenie sobs, tears gathering in her eyes once more.

Jacob restrains himself from reaching out and wiping the tears away, but shock roots him in place. A hysterical disbelieving laugh bubbling just behind his lips, yet he doesn't laugh. _He can't. _Deep inside, hidden away in the back of his mind her words ring true. He doesn't know why or how, but Jacob Kowalski truly believes what Queenie was saying.

_'We'll be waiting.' _Hermione said, just before you walked into the rain. But I couldn't wait. I meant what I said that day, Jacob. I was never gonna find another man like you, and I don't want to." A myriad of emotions swell within the sweet and kind man, eyes softening ever so slightly.

A lull falls over them as they lose themselves in one another's gaze. Silencing his doubt, he accepts her words. Jacob leans forward, gently cupping the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her soft hair, he plants a small, chaste kiss on Queenie's quivering lips.

* * *

Newt breathes heavily, looking down at the woman beneath him, pressed firmly into the plush cushions of the transfigured loveseat. Her wild, rioting curls sprawl out beneath her head like a halo, small traces of golden highlights exuding an ethereal glow.

He runs his tongue lazily along the seams of his swollen lips. Hermione's intelligent brown eyes following his every move — pupils dilated and blown, leaving a thin ring of brown on the outer rim. She gives a small squeeze with her thighs wrapped tightly around his waist, voicing her arousal. He bites back a moan of pleasure that threatens to spill from his lips.

_This is hardly proper. _A quiet voice whispers; he notes the beautiful blush covering her lightly freckled cheeks, chest heaving, and rouge-bitten lips.

_To hell with propriety. _Another voice argues. Newt can't help but agree as he runs a hand along the curve of her hip, eyes instantly drawn to the thin sliver of scarred flesh exposed just above the waistline of her trousers.

"It's not the same." The young woman beneath him admits, voice low and filled with gravel.

The Augurey recovering in it's enclosure below crys out. Outside, rain begins to fall.

Newt's heart skips a bit, pulse quickening, a cold sweat breaking out across his hairline as panic and fear grip his heart. He moves to free himself from the vice-like grip her toned thighs and legs have on his narrow waist. She simply tightens her grip in response.

"Newt." He stills, curious and somewhat wounded gaze meeting her own. "That's not what I meant. Not entirely."

The rain falls harder as confusion falls into the vat of panic bubbling inside of him. He quirks a brow.

Hermione sighs, she runs a hand through her hair, careful of the tangles made during their haze of desire.

"It isn't the same because ever since New York, from our very first meeting. Every touch, even something as simple and innocent as your fingers brushing against mine would cause any rational thought and modicum of control to cease and were obliterated. I couldn't think—" She untangles her hand from her hair, laying it once more on his jaw, lightly caressing the smooth skin there. "I couldn't breathe. All I could see, feel and hear was _you_. Do I really seem like the sort of girl who would go around kissing a boy in the middle of chaos as the entire world went to hell around me?" She asks her voice laced with amusement and a twinkle in her eyes.

Newt opens his mouth to reply but stops as the words dies on his lips. Tilting his head to the right, he relishes in feeling her calloused, ink-stained fingers caresses his skin.

He's at a loss for words, unable to argue. She's entirely right, Newt agrees. Neither of them seemed the type prone to such frivolous behaviours, especially in the middle of an international and highly dangerous incident.

"I don't believe either of us are." He agrees with a slight smile, eyes boring into her own.

"Exactly. It was odd and unusual, every touch, our kiss... it all seemed somewhat forced. Though looking back on it now, I can't argue that there was a genuine attraction growing there, even then, for me at least..." She trails off a somewhat timid look entering her eyes.

He confirms with a nod. Erasing the space between them, he slides his hand into her messy, tangled hair, calloused fingers flexing slightly as they lightly massage her scalp.

A soft, contented sigh escapes Hermione's lips at his touch, thighs tightening just a fraction.

"I'm glad." A brilliant smile stretches across her lips. "It might not be the same, but it's no less amazing. If anything, I prefer how I feel now, to what I did then. Now. I'm in control, I'm rational even with you pressed against me as you are. Moreover, I'm sure of these feelings building within me. They're real. No strange magics at play forcing my hand. At least, not overwhelmingly so. Kissing you, touching you, wishing to spend my days with you, those are all _my _choice and not the result of some strange ancient magic, adrenaline or the aftereffects of my tumble through time." She pauses, brows furrowing in thought, hand dropping once more to her side.

"I don't believe in prophecies, divination or love at first sight. I don't put much stock into the concept of soulbonds or soulmates, even with all that has happened I don't fancy myself madly in love with you. But—" Another pause, feeling uneasy as she looks to Newt.

He smiles slightly in reply, a comforting, easy look, urging her to continue.

"But, I do know that I'm attracted to you, and I want to learn everything about you, as much as you're willing to share. I offer you the same. I'd like to see where this goes — not focusing on soulbonds, mates and our apparent fate — but rather on what's real and tangible. This. You and me. Right here and now, we'll deal with the issues we may face as they come. Together. One day at a time."

"One day at a time." He accepts, with the slightest of laughs before leaning forward once more to catch her lips in another heated kiss, relishing in the feel of her body pressed deliciously close against his own.


	6. Percival Graves and a Mysterious Letter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thanks for the reviews guys!

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone.

* * *

_Gellert Grindelwald, the greatest war criminal of their time was gone._

Madame Picquery continues to stare at the glowing, metallic map of New York City, held within the Major Investigation Department of the MACUSA. She struggles to maintain her composure as a number of emotions surge within her tired, weary form.

A handful of Aurors mill around, cautiously glancing at her from the corners of their eyes.

Though she would never speak of such perceived weakness aloud, Seraphina Picquery can't help but think that they're judging her, blaming her for all the chaos and destruction mere hours ago.

Over forty Aurors, various employees and a few unlucky No-Maj were seriously injured or killed during Grindelwald's escape. The MACUSA was now on lock down. A state of emergency was declared. However, those were not the only casualties of the day.

Percival Graves, a well-respected Auror, Director of Magical Security and Head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Dead. The search-and-rescue mission carried out during Grindelwald's escape was a success; they located and found him. However, Percival Graves didn't get the happy ending that some had hoped for.

It was suspicious that Grindelwald was so forthcoming with his information. He didn't lie when he gave them the location of the true Percival Graves. He simply failed to mention what state they'd find him in.

According to the healer, Graves has been dead for months. They believed he was killed shortly after being kidnapped when Grindelwald assumed his identity. Sometime in December, they estimated in regards to his D.O.D, although the damage done to his body was far too great to confirm the exact time and cause of death.

Seraphina Picquery cares very little for such things, given the current state of the MACUSA, she has no doubt in her mind that her approval rating is plummeting with each passing moment. It's likely that this is her final term as President, but she's determined to _not _go down in history as the President who allowed Grindelwald to escape and continue his reign of terror.

_What's done is done. _Taking a breath, she shakes away that inconsequential train of thought, dark eyes focusing once more on the metallic image before switching it off.

_Nothing. _Not one sign of Grindelwald or his mysterious accomplices. He could be halfway across the world by now, and it is all her fault!

The International Confederation of Wizards was summoned, a number of high-ranking officials from all over the world will join them shortly. They were preparing the Pentagram Office for their imminent arrival.

With a heavy sigh, Madame Picquery pivots on her heel and exits the room, making her way through the newly repaired halls to the interrogation rooms, in the depths of the MACUSA. She's eager for answers, desperate for any piece of information they could learn about Gellert Grindelwald and his 'Grand plans' for the Wizarding world.

* * *

"He's escaped." The old hag's quiet words catch Credence Barebone's attention. His unsettling dark eyes falling upon the hag and her chosen companion as he melts further into the shadows of the alley, careful to remain silent and out of sight, ears straining to listen in on their hushed conversation.

"Grindelwald, he's escaped."

With three simple words, the old hag has chilled him to the core.

Panic builds, heart rate increasing as he struggles to breathe, that terrifying and all-consuming power threatening to consume him.

In the back of his mind, he knew that the peace he had savoured these past few months would eventually come to an end. Leaving New York was his best decision yet, the unknown power within him stayed blessedly quiet over these past few months. That being said, the sudden news of Grindelwald's escape threatened to push him over the edge, his tenuous grasp on his emotions swiftly slipping away.

The hag and her companion continue to speak, yet Credence can't hear a thing. Their voices muffled by the sudden rush of blood to his head. A quiet, pained moan falls from his parted lips giving away his position.

His dark eyes focus on the pair who have now noticed him, opening his mouth to warn them away, the words dying on his lips, a deep groan filling the air.

Unbeknownst to Credence he was being followed. Albus Dumbledore stands Disillusioned a few feet away, silently watching the scene play out before him in the darkened alley.

Dread fills the older wizard; the young wizard is shaking and gasping for air. The old hag and her companion moving ever closer with each passing second, their intentions obvious.

_Time is running out. _Albus had only wished to follow the young man, learn of his intentions and where he had been staying, but he now had to do something. Rushing forward, he grabs the young man's upper arm in a vice like grip, pulling him closer before Disapparating away.

Within the now silent alley, the hag curses, her companion quickly making his escape.

* * *

Some days Tina Goldstein truly hated her job. Just a few days ago, she was reinstated as an Auror, Grindelwald was captured and awaiting death. But, of course, things rarely went according to plan. Just when she thought that things were finally getting back to normal, it all went to hell.

Grindelwald escaped, leaving behind a scene of destruction and death in his wake. MACUSA's on lock down, and she hasn't been able to contact her sister all day. She was told that Queenie was late for work and wasn't among the dead or injured which comforted her slightly but Tina could barely clamp down the fear and dread gradually building within her.

_Queenie. _She silently prays.

As much as Tina wants to find her sister she can't. They're in a state of emergency; the only employees free to come-and-go being the highest-ranking officials and a handful of Auror's dispatched to locate Grindelwald or pick up whatever trail they might find. Everyone was questioned. No one can be trusted. Gellert Grindelwald had escaped, and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that he had help.

Tina's lucky. Being with the President herself at the time of the explosion, it gave her an alibi, clearing her of most suspicion. Still, she submitted to voluntary questioning, even going as far as to allow the President and her chosen counsel to question her under the influence of Veritaserum. After what happened the last time, Tina has very little desire to be on the wrong side of the interrogation table, ever again.

_What a day. _Tina sighs, taking in the scene before her.

They were in the interrogation room; the same one Newt, Hermione and her were questioned in only months before, fortunately, it's not Tina in the hot seat this time around.

Grindelwald's escape wasn't the only shocking news of the day. The squad of Aurors sent out to retrieve Percival Graves had returned— after speaking to Grindelwald himself, Tina has little reason to believe that he was still alive. She was correct in her beliefs.

Graves was dead. Any further information regarding Grindelwald and his grand plans died with him. Now, they could do little more than deal with the current state of the MACUSA — questioning every single employee, hoping to gain even the smallest piece of information.

They no longer had the luxury of wasting time. With each passing minute, Grindelwald and his fanatics were getting further away. They needed answers, and they needed them now. Before the matter of Grindelwald was out of their hands.

* * *

Albus didn't think. The young man's sudden spike in magical energy forced him to act. He grabbed him with little thought, Apparating them both away to the first place that came to mind: The Forbidden Forest.

It shouldn't have been possible. The Forbidden Forest is on Hogwarts' grounds. Apparating here should have been impossible, yet here they are.

_A puzzle for another time perhaps. _He narrows his eyes in thought, taking in the young man's shaking form.

"Breathe" Albus urges, gripping the young man's forearms, trying to hold him still. Their eyes meet, the unusually dark eyes of the young man full to the brim with panic and fear.

"R-Run." He groans and shudders. Albus's curious blue eyes widening in shock as he notes his face turning black.

The young man grits his teeth, clenches his fists white and stiff, struggling to suppress the destructive force seemingly building within him now.

Fear shoots down Albus's spine, an old memory drudges up to the surface, his heart beating wild and unsteady against his chest.

_A small house in Godric's Hollow starts shaking and shuddering; a terrified, feminine scream penetrates the air._

_It had been a little over a month since their mother moved them from Mold-on-the-wold to Godric's Hollow, little over a month since his father's imprisonment and the muggle-attack on his younger sister's life._

_What happened to Ariana was a tragedy. Their mother moved them to hide Ariana from the outside world. However, Albus wasn't sure how successful her attempts would be if the ear shattering screams and shakes and quakes continued for much longer._

_A young Albus kicks the blankets off from his feet, glancing over to his younger brother before grabbing his wand._

_He and Mother bought his wand only weeks ago, in preparation for the coming school year. In a few short weeks, Albus Dumbledore would begin his schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although he didn't yet know a single spell and he wasn't allowed to perform magic outside of Hogwarts, he refused to be unprepared. Damn the laws._

_He quietly creeps through the darkened hallways of the house, careful to silence his footfalls as he approached his younger sisters room._

_The door is ajar. The screams growing louder the closer he gets; the dim flickering of candlelight bathes the room in an eerie glow._

_Holding his breath, young Albus approaches, wand out and at the ready. Curious blue eyes peeking through the gap. In the room, laying on the bed is his younger sister, Ariana. Her tangled, blonde hair spread out like a halo beneath her head as she writhes on her bed, the sheets and blanket entangled around her small form, tiny hands clutching tight; swatches of black mist seeming to lick at the skin of her delicate face._

_His mother is sobbing, pressing herself tightly up against the wall, her teary eyes wide and full of fear, an empty potions vial clutched tightly in hand._

_Another scream penetrates the air, the house trembles for a few moments until it finally ceases. Ariana's screams descend into a whimper then silence. The house stops shaking once his sister drifts off into a potion-induced sleep._

_Albus clenches his fist, biting hard on his lip, His mother slumps down the wall, flinging the small, empty vial across the room where it shatters in a small spray of glass. Violent sobs wrack her body as Albus stumbles back, wide-eyed and fearful, an all-consuming dread threatens to spill over the brim. _

Albus shakes his head, shooing away his thoughts, returning his attention back to the young man.

"Breathe." He repeats, rubbing a hand over his arm, voice low and soothing, fearing to spook him further.

"Breathe." He commands, gripping the boy's chin in hand, forcing their eyes to meet.

The boy starts regulating his breaths, choking and sputtering as he exhales. The blackness begins to recede, yet still, he shakes, clearly struggling to stay in control.

"Breathe — I'm Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are currently in the Forbidden Forest on the grounds. There is no one else around. You are safe, this I swear to you, young man."

"Not-not safe. Run."

"No, you a very much safe, as am I. I overheard you- In the bar." The young man gasps, eyes widening as another wave of panic grips him. "No, no, you have nothing to fear from me." Albus soothes, noting the sudden tension in the young man's form. "I heard you were looking for Mr. Scamander and Ms. Granger. Although, I have yet to meet this Hermione Granger who has gained the interest of the Wizarding World, Newt Scamander, on the other hand, was a beloved student of mine. You were looking for them—" The young man begins to relax at the mention their names. "Though I may not know their current whereabouts. I can help you find them, I can help you. Knockturn Alley is no place for a young man such as yourself. It's full of the most unsavoury and dangerous types."

"However," Albus begins slowly, contemplating his next words. "I must know your reasons for seeking them out and how—" His eyes drop to the pendant resting over the young man's chest. "How you came to be in possession of this pendant here."

The two share a look. They weren't out of the woods yet, but Albus's words calmed the young man ever so slightly.

* * *

_Nothing. _It took all day and night to question each and every employee, present at the MACUSA, during the time of Grindelwald's escape. Plus, they had to wait for those on the search-and-rescue mission to return.

Grindelwald clearly had help. Thankfully, they found no traitor within their midst. All employees were accounted for, but this information provides little comfort to President Picquery. The International Delegates were beginning to arrive, and she had nothing to give them. No more than what she already knows.

At the cost of causalities and fatalities, Gellert Grindelwald was free, and the Wizarding World would soon be thrust into another period of unrest.

There's no longer a doubt in her mind. This _is _her final term.

* * *

"Teenie?" Queenie quietly asks, opening the door into their darkened apartment. She stands in the small entrance way, looking around. Tension evident in her squared shoulders and the way she's tightly clutching her wand in hand.

No reply. Tina isn't home yet. With a sigh and a wave of her wand, the small apartment slowly bathes in light. She bites her lip, locking the door behind her before making her way through the room, making quick work of removing her shoes, stained jacket, and purse.

Heading towards the kitchen, her grey-green eyes notice the small piece of parchment on the wooden table. Hands shaking, she grabs it.

_I'll be home as soon as I can._

_Tina_

The tension melts away as she slumps into one of the sturdy wooden chairs, dropping her head into her hands. Somewhat comforted by the knowledge that her sister is safe, Queenie leans back, wiping away the unshed tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. A feeling of dread chilling her to the very bone.

* * *

A girlish giggle fills the dimly lit room as Hermione and Newt separate. The two spent the majority of the past two days alternating between making out on the transfigured loveseat, like a pair of lusty teens, and just basking in the warmth of each other's presence.

An advance copy of Newt's manuscript arrived yesterday, the two taking turns reading the passages aloud. Locked away in the safety and comfort of their home, they were blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning in the Wizarding World.

Brown meets blue, sharing a soft look with joyful smiles stretching across their swollen lips. They relish in the sensation of their bodies moulding together and the warmth covering their skin. Newt runs a single, steady hand through Hermione's messy, riotous curls, an indulgent smile stretched wide across his face.

A sudden tap on the window drags their attention away from their ministrations. With great difficulty and reluctance, Newt detangles himself from Hermione's vice-like grip.

Hermione can't help but protest with a groan at the loss of contact. That indulgent smile reappears when Newt bends over, laying one final, playful chaste kiss on her heated temple. He walks across the darkened room and opens the window to allow a beautiful dark, Screech owl in.

The owl flies past Newt, landing on the edge of the table and drops an envelope on the wooden tabletop, knocking a delicate little teacup onto its side. Hermione laughs as the icy liquid held within spills onto the floor. Wordlessly summoning her wand, she vanishes the mess away.

With a small nod of thanks, Newt lightly strokes the docile owl as his eyes fall on the letter.

"I wonder who this from." He muses, brows furrowing in thought.

Hermione quirks a brow in apprehension as she examines the small envelope. Sitting upright on the loveseat, she casts a spell, checking for any harmful hexes or curses. Clean of malicious intent, she stretches out a single hand towards the bird in question.

The small, proud owl stares at her in defiance, it's dark gaze unwavering. Unnerved, she lightly grips one of the edges, gently pulling the letter from beneath its watchful eyes.

Turning the letter over, she examines the looping scrawl before breaking the unfamiliar seal. The owl hoots and preens its feathers, waiting for a response to the missive as Newt watches Hermione read the letter in silence, he notices the rising tension in her shoulders and the deep frown marring her features.

She, wordlessly, passes the letter over to him. The smallest brush of their fingers leaving a tantalizing, faint trail of heat in it's wake. He looks at her inquisitively, brow quirked once he spots the family name at the top of the missive.

Hermione sighs, slumping in her seat, thoughts a mess as old memories resurface. Newt can do nothing more than watch as she loses herself in the past.


	7. Home

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thanks for the reviews guys!

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone. As a perk you get to read each chapter before everyone else. Eh... eh?

* * *

_Oh, Harry. _Melancholy fills Hermione's eyes as she examines the large manor, partially hidden by a canopy of trees behind the large, tightly shut iron wrought gates, which proudly display the Potter Family Crest.

Waves of emotion surge through her, hints occasionally flit across her face, alerting Newt to the inner turmoil she's experiencing. Dozens of questions run through her mind, countless 'what if's' and the desire to see her best friend, one last time — even if just to sate the curiosity plaguing her mind.

An audible sigh slips from her red-stained lips, pulling the light overcoat closer and tighter, shivering slightly in the gentle spring breeze.

"Is it your memories?" Newt asks; his warm breath caressing the edge of her ear in the most delicious of ways as he leans into her.

"No." Hermione straightens her back and squares her shoulders. A hard look entering her eyes, staring at the manor that's looming ahead. "I've never been here before." She confesses gravely.

Newt looks at her, startled and surprised.

"What?" he squeaks, "How? He was your best friend. The last of his line. Unless the manor was destroyed before his birth, this should have all been his." A pregnant pause fills the air between them, the wind howling as it rustles the leaves in the canopy of the ancient trees.

"I-I don't know," Hermione admits, brows furrowed in thought; irritation spiking down along her spine. "You're right. Of course, you're right-but- I honestly have no idea what happened to the manor in my time." The words tumble unbidden from her lips.

"He was a Potter, a well-known and respected Pureblood family that dates back to 13th century. They have dozens of estates and a moderately vast vault that's overflowing with gold. It seems highly unlikely that they managed to squander all of their riches and sold all of their estates, especially given Fleamont's recent success with his Sleakeazy hair potions." Newt gestures wildly in frustration.

Hermione knows he isn't genuinely frustrated with her, but rather the situation and the lack of information. That being said, she's also beginning to feel the frustration and anger herself.

"You seem quite well versed in Pureblood history." She bitterly snarks.

Ever since receiving the Potter's missive yesterday, she's been tensed in apprehension and anxiety that's steadily growing with each passing moment. However, Newt's poking and prodding were the final straw, pushing her over the edge.

"More to the point, the Potter family wasn't pure enough considering their exclusion from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The only wealth, either Harry or I were aware of was the stacks of gold stored within Vault 687."

Newt quirks his brow in response, ignoring her bitter tone because he understands that it is not directed at him.

"I am a Pureblood." He states with a frown on his lips. "Despite rejecting many traditional and prejudicial aspects of what some believe to be the ruling class, my brother and I were taught the history of our world and customs from birth."

Hermione flinches at his response, a sliver of guilt creeping along the edges of her thoughts.

"Well," Newt forces himself to sound cheery. "No matter, you're experiencing the history of your friend, first hand. The truth will be revealed soon enough. Did he manage to receive _any _of his family's heirlooms? A few of them are quite well known."

Hermione mumbles something under her breath, grinding the toe of her polished, black, closed toe shoes into the gravel below, eyes firmly on the ground.

"Pardon?" He asks with a playful lilt in his voice, bending down towards her. His chilled fingers lightly brush against her own, leaving a small trail of warmth following in their wake.

Hermione looks up, Newt's eyes widen in shock as their gaze connects. His expression softens, noticing the pensive look on her face, and the adorable frown between her whiskey-coloured eyes.

"The Invisibility Cloak — There's so much I still need to tell you Ne—"

"I'm quite interested in learning how you know so much about my family and our most treasured and secret heirloom. A discussion best conducted over a hot meal, wouldn't you say, Ms. Granger?" A masculine voice interrupts their conversation.

Hermione curses under her breath and turns to face the eavesdropper head on.

* * *

Twinkling blue eyes examine the Muggle newspaper strewn open on the desk, inspecting the articles in depth. Despite his grievances with Muggles, he can't deny their ingenuousness, imagination, and capability to dream up the most innovative yet terrifying inventions.

With each passing year, working as the Transfiguration Teacher at Hogwarts, he grew more and more interested in new Muggle devices and the inner workings of their world. Although he had reservations interacting with the Muggle populace, he was always amazed by the Muggleborns admitted into the ancient halls of the castle each year in larger numbers.

More to the point, his encounter with young Credence Barebone — a Muggle-raised boy, without a speck of magical education or knowledge. Possessing a surplus of raw and uncontrollable magical energy, he can't deny that Muggleborns and Muggle-raised were among the most powerful and skilled students that he has ever had the pleasure of teaching.

What Credence's mind revealed to him about Ms. Granger further proved his hypothesis.

Albus leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh falling from his lips as he watches the bobbles twist and turn on the corner of his desk.

It's been two days since Albus had attempted to gain Credence's trust. Two days later and the boy was lost to him once more.

_In the Wind_. As the muggles say.

Albus hadn't meant to run the boy off, honestly. He had gently prodded his mind, searching for answers about the incident in New York and Newt Scamanders new and mysterious companion. It had to be done. Yet the boy wasn't exactly forthcoming with his information. Somehow Credence must have known, sensed the foreign presence in his mind, and so he ran.

_For the Greater Good._ Albus thinks, gently stroking his greying beard as he loses himself in the memories of what he learned from the complex and frightened young man.

_After reassuring and learning his name, Albus brought Credence into the castle, thankfully managing to avoid running into any of his fellow professors and students. Once safely sequestered away in the Transfiguration office, Albus sent off a quick note to Headmaster Dippet, informing him of the guest who would be staying with him for the time being._

_So far, no reply from Dippet, which doesn't surprise Albus in the least._

_Credence hadn't been very forthcoming about New York. He was meant to be dead for Merlin's sake. More to the point, Credence seemed aware of the value attached to the knowledge he now possessed, perhaps also of the danger, it held now that Gellert had escaped._

_After administering a moderate dose of Calming Draught into his steaming cup of tea, Credence finally relaxed. He no longer jumped at the slightest noise and the frantic darts of his eyes to the door eventually ceased. Still, with so little information about the incident, he forced Dumbledore to use Legilimency on him, easily shuffling through the memories before finding the ones he needed._

_Credence's mind was a mess, a dark and tragic childhood marring his outlook on life. Terrified and frightened of the future. His fear appearing in the forms of his adopted mother — Mary Lou — Percival Graves, the Aurors who neutralized him and the all-consuming power churning inside of him._

_He's meant to be dead. Despite the danger, he poses Hogwarts, Albus can't help but thank the Magick's that Credence survived the attack in New York. He truly believes it would be a waste of potential for the young Credence's story to end there. That amount of raw power and untamed magic rolling off of him in waves is magnificent._

_Intoxicating, if not a bit terrifying. With proper training and foci for his magic, he might be one of the most powerful and formidable wizards of the decade._

_However, it's clear that Credence and his magic are unstable. The knowledge of Grindelwald's escape triggered his fears and Albus was almost too late to pull him back. If he hadn't acted, if he hadn't Disapparated them away when he did. Well, best not to dwell on what might have been._

_Credence's memories brought a fresh, new narrative of the events in New York. So many unknown variables, much of the incident cloaked in secrecy, but with Credence's help, Albus could see the full scope of the events and what they could mean for the future of the Wizarding World._

_Hermione Granger, Muggleborn and proud, if his sources were to be believed. An accomplished duellist, exuding power and confidence. Someone who is, more or less, on equal footing with Gellert Grindelwald. That, in itself, is no easy feat. His old friend being one of the most powerful and formidable opponents he has ever met. His magical prowess matched only by his radical beliefs._

_What truly stood out to Albus about their duel in the subway was her appearance and words._

_Albus cares very little for appearances, especially those of the female variety; however, he cannot deny Ms. Granger's beauty. The way she stood before Credence, those intelligent and wise whiskey-coloured eyes and the way her magic rolled off of her in tidal waves. She was magnificent-_

The memories he had seen within Credence's mind left him with more questions than answers. He had always been the curious sort since his youth.

Albus went in search of Credence the day after viewing Credence's memories, a large number of questions on the tip of his tongue, yet the young man was nowhere to be found. A few spells later and it was revealed that Credence Barebone had left that safety of Hogwarts, once more on his own.

_Perhaps it's time to contact my old student once more._

* * *

_Just had to open your mouth, didn't you Granger? _Hermione shoots them a harsh glare as she examines the man before her. Newt's been awkwardly attempting to soothe the man as she engaged in a silent battle of wills. Neither party seeming willing or able to relent.

_There's no talking our way out of this one, given how much he's already overheard. _

He and Newt appear to know each other quite well — an old family friend, so it seems. Surprisingly, Newt had failed to mention this to her before they agreed to a small formal dinner with the Potters.

_Or perhaps he did? _A small part of her mind rationalizes.

After reading the letter, Hermione was neck-deep in her memories of Harry, remembering their friendship fondly. Newt might have mentioned it then, but she was too far gone to notice. Be that as it may, it made no difference now.

Henry Potter is a formidable man, emitting an imposing air with his formal wear, a charming mix of muggle and wizard fashion. The moonlight highlights the hazel in his eyes; they meet Hermione's gaze, piercing and sharp.

"Honestly Henry, it's not what you think." Newt implores, frantically attempting to diffuse the situation.

"Newt, I'll hear you out because of my friendship with your parents, bless their souls. But, I'll be confiscating both of your wands. _Now._" It isn't a request. It's a _command_. Either they willingly hand over their wands or refuse and begin duelling, then the Potters and the Scamanders will be allies no more.

Hermione furrows her brows. _Perfect form. _Henry holds his wand with a firm but steady grip, pointing it directly at Hermione, identifying her as a threat, rather than the son of his old friend.

_He's not wrong. _A wistful smile tugs at the corners of her lips as Hermione takes in his messy, greying hair and the curve of his jaw, a family feature it would seem that reminds her of Harry so very much.

The wind howls, Hermione contemplates her next move, shuffling slightly from foot to foot. She exhales a reluctant sigh.

"Fine," she says sharply. Tension seeps from Henry and Newt's shoulders as she steps forward, Newt hot on her heels. Silently she summons her wand to her hand, offering it to Henry, hilt first as Newt does the same.

Henry stows the wands in the folds of his cloak, eyes never once leaving Hermione's tense form.

A frustrated sigh escapes Hermione's lips as the silent staring contest resumes.

"Shall we go?" She asks in exasperation; sidestepping pass their host in an attempt to get this tense situation over and done with. She bites her lip when a strong hand grips her upper arm. Fire blazes in her eyes as she meets Henry's knowing gaze.

"All of them." Newt groans from beside Henry, he sends Hermione a beseeching look.

"Fine," she bites, verging on a growl. She wandlessly dismantles the wards on her bag and thrusts her arm into its depths, rummaging until she feels the smooth surfaces of wood.

She shoves the two, carved pieces of wood into Henry's fabric clad chest with a sneer curving her lips.

_To hell with propriety. _Impulsively, she lets the thin pieces of wood tumble to the ground.

Henry bends over to retrieve them. Hermione can't help but calculate the numerous ways she can quickly incapacitate him in this position, but with a sharp look from Newt, she wills herself not to lash out as he collects the wands from the ground.

They look to Henry as a quiet gasp escapes his lips. Hermione opens her mouth to voice her questions aloud when she's pushed forward. A wand pointed directly between her eyes.

All she can see is red, the sound of rushing water filling her ears as her anger finally reaches its precipice, all anxiety, and apprehension about their meeting, quickly being replaced by a devastating bout of violence.

"And just what are you doing with a dead man's wand?"

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

_Damn Bird. _Theseus groans, rolling onto his side. He lets out a startled shout as he falls off the couch and onto the hard-wooden floor of the living room.

"_Merlin's hairy balls_, I wouldn't have drunk so much, if I'd known a demon bird would be tapping at my window in the middle of the bloody night." His voice echos in the spacious room.

With much reluctance, he pulls himself up, wobbling a little on his feet before stumbling to the window and opening it for the blasted bird.

A Screech owl swoops about the room, what many would consider a beautiful display, but at the moment, all Theseus can see is a beast that's being a nuisance.

He puts his head in his hands, rubbing his calloused fingers over his stubble before signalling for the owl. It lands in front of him, preening but Theseus simply tears the letter from its beak.

The screech owl gives a loud, irritated hoot, taking to the sky once more but not before clipping Theseus sharply with its wing. It glides out through the window and into the dark sky to begin its long journey home.

With a loud curse, Theseus slams the window shut, locking it tightly before breaking the wax-sealed missive. Squinting his eyes, he attempts to read the words under dim lights.

He spews out another string of curses as he storms into the kitchens, rummaging through the cupboards for a Sober-Up potion. Finding it, he tears the cork from the vial with his teeth and chugs it down in one-shot.

Feeling the potion taking effect, he smooths out the creases in his clothes, quickly putting on his overcoat before racing over to the fireplace, tucked cosily against one of the walls.

"Potter Manor." He states, tossing the Floo powder and disappearing in a burst of sickly green flames.

* * *

Newt Scamander refuses to believe that meeting Hermione was a mistake; however, he is mildly concerned with how often they find themselves bound and shackled by a group of suspicious witches and wizards.

He cares for her, he does. She's beautiful, passionate and fiercely intelligent. She's also interested in all Magical Creatures and has never once judged him for his more eclectic and eccentric interests and tastes. He can no longer imagine a life without her.

Though in all honesty, at this rate, he fears that they'll be thrown into Azkaban before the year's up, given his disposition for somewhat destructive and reckless adventures and her lack of filter, a penchant for running her mouth.

He likes that about her, but it does get them into a fair bit of trouble. Despite their situation, Newt can't help but smile, looking over to the silently fuming Hermione, bound by his side. Chuckles slip from his lips, catching all those present off guard.

* * *

_He's lost it. Newt's finally lost it. We're magically bound by the Potters, held at wand-point, an Auror on the way, and he's laughing. He's gone mad! _

Rolling her eyes, Hermione settles her gaze on Henry Potter, ignoring his son and daughter-in-law for the moment. He looks at her as though she's a difficult puzzle he needs to solve.

_Can't blame him, considering everything that's happened tonight. _She thinks, recalling the altercation before they entered the property.

It's odd, Hermione can count the number of Pureblood properties she's willingly visited on a single hand, with fingers left to spare. Her experience with familial magik may be limited, but there's something different about this.

_Maybe they're more powerful? Or because I have a connection to them… _

* * *

_Hermione holds back her protesting groan. Henry presses the tip of his wand against the back of her neck; she kept her hands raised, to show that she possesses no malicious intentions._

_Bless Newt. He's still trying to convince Henry otherwise, grasping at any semblance of an argument in their favour. It's no use, though. Her intimate knowledge of their family secrets and the death of Percival Graves paints them in a bad light._

_Honestly, she didn't mean to keep his wand; she returned the executioner's wand to the President, herself, upon the request of its owner. With everything that's going on, she just forgot that she had Graves' wand in her beaded bag — not that hard to do considering how much stuff is in there. Out of sight, out of mind. If someone had asked, she would've given it back, but no one did._

_The intricately carved archways of the gate loom over them ominously underneath the moonlit night. She bites down hard on her lip as memories of her time spent in Malfoy Manner nips at the edge of her mind._

_She shakes her head and the memories away. Now is not the time to —_

_A wave of Magic crashes into her with all the subtlety of an Erumpent just as she steps past the wards; she shivers as electricity thrums beneath her skin._

_Newt gasps, Hermione takes a quick glance, aware as she takes in his startled expression and laboured breath._

_Did he feel it too? Curious—_

_Behind her, Henry freezes, redrawing his wand an inch away as he experiences, what she assumes is a similar sensation._

_A shared experience — though, are we experiencing the same thing?_

_If she's correct, Henry's the Potter Patriarch. It makes sense that he has a stronger connection to the family wards and magik. Newt, on the other hand, perhaps it's through the connection they have?_

_It's unsettling, at first, unlike anything she has ever experienced before._

_The volatile reaction of the familial magik towards her presence, coming at her in waves as they assess and examine the unknown intruder on their grounds. Her nerve endings blaze with white flames as the excess energy causes sparks underneath the thin layer of her skin. Within seconds, the attack relents, confused._

_Is she a guest, an enemy, a friend or perhaps something more? The ancient magik seems unsure._

_Henry's as shocked as Hermione is at the violent response, never before has he experienced such a sensation with guests, both hostile and friendly._

_The magik rages within them and, to a lesser extent, Newt too._

_Pulse quickening, heavy breathing, Hermione feels oxygen deprived and lightheaded until the magik stills, finding whatever it is, it's looking for._

_Tension disperses as a blanket of warmth descends over her skin, her magic responds pleasantly to the change. Tears springing to her eyes unbidden, a swell of emotions crushing her heart._

_Oh, Harry. She sobs quietly behind her lips._

_Hermione never equated home to a single location. It can never be something as simple as that._

_In her time, home was her loved ones, her parents, Harry and at one point, Ron. Home was, to a lesser extent, the Weasley family, little Teddy, Luna, Neville and even Professor McGonagall. Home was her beloved cat, Crookshanks, before she lost him to the war._

_Even 70 years into the past, she found a home in Newt. Queenie and Jacob too, despite the distance that divides them now._

_Nothing as great as 70 years. She lets out a bitter laugh as the family magik continues to creep along her skin._

_Tear-filled eyes slide over to Newt before meeting the confused and frightened gaze of Henry Potter._

_Home, it seems will always be with the Potters as well. No matter the time, no matter the place, a family can be made, a home can be found with the ancestors of those she once called friends._

* * *

Henry clearly has no idea what to do with them. He didn't even bother telling his son and daughter-in-law anything when he brought Hermione and Newt, magically-bound into their dimly lit drawing room before penning a quick letter to an Auror he trusted.

Hermione's tempted to ask why he chose that particular method of correspondence, given that there's a fireplace right there with a jar of Floo powder on top of the mantel. A Floo call is certainly quicker, but she decides against asking, content to examine her memories of the evening so far, interested in the family dynamic and architecture of the manor's room.

His son and daughter-in-law argued and fumed, the dark-haired woman repeatedly saying how bad manners it is of them to bind an invited guest. But Henry refuses to relent, keeping his gaze on Hermione's as the hands of the clock tick by. His silence is telling as they await the arrival of the Auror.

By the time the Floo roars to life, Hermione feels antsy. Although she feels content to continue to silently stare at the Potter Patriarch, his stillness and unblinking eyes begin to unnerve her.

"Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, just what have you done now?" The familiar voice of Theseus Scamander bellows as he steps out from the fireplace, brushing the soot aggressively from his robes.

"Oh, we're using full names now, are we?" Newt asks with a hint of laughter, a mirthful smile on his lips, despite the tense situation they're in.

"I have half a mind to forbid you from seeing Hermione ever again if the two of you continue to insist upon actively seeking out trouble." Hermione narrows her eyes, spotting his rumpled clothes, overgrown stubble and the slight slur to his voice.

_Has he been drinking? _Her eyes dart around the room, realizing that she isn't the only one to have come to that conclusion.

"You aren't my mother—" Newt bites back with a piercing stare.

"No, but I am the Acting Head of the Scamander family."

"Been drinking again, have we?" Newt asks, bitterness laced in his tone. Hermione quirks a brow at his response, somewhat unfamiliar with this side of Newt.

"You have no—"

"You only ever lord your status as Family Head over me when you've been drinking." Theseus steps forward, long legs carrying him further into the room as he pins his younger brother with an irritated glare.

"What of it? I just received word that my friend has died — More to the point, it's the middle of the night, I hardly expected any callers given the late—"

"It's only 7PM..." Hermione points out under her breath; a light blush covers her cheeks when she realizes they heard her.

Everyone turns to look at her, letting the statement sink in. Theseus' eyes widen in shock, mouth agape as he attempts to formulate a response.

From her side, Newt starts choking, she looks to him in concern but rolls her eyes when she notices his shaking shoulders and the way he's struggling to hold onto his composure. Within seconds, he dissolves into laughter, bursting out from him in great guffaws. A delicate feminine laugh soon joins him, until finally, all but Hermione and Theseus are laughing, even the corner of Henry's lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles.

_Just like home. _The warmth building within comforts her, despite this foreign time and unfamiliar place.

Surrounded by those that were ancient or dead, the Halls of the Potter Manor fills with life. At that moment, Hermione Jean Granger feels that she can breathe just a little bit easier, for now.


	8. Leta Lestrange

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thanks for the reviews guys!

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone. As a perk you get to read each chapter before everyone else. Eh... eh? If no one offers themselves up as Beta ch. 10's coming at you all unedited and I can't promise that will be great so that's something to think about!

* * *

The silence is suffocating. The warmth and laughter filling the ancient drawing room within Potter Manor gone. The building's warmth swiftly snuffed out by the weight of the questions bearing down upon their heads.

With a soft sigh, Hermione's tired brown eyes fall on Newt's bound, and silently fuming form. A small smile pulling at her lips, the corners of her eyes softening ever so slightly. Although she is loath to admit it, Hermione understands why she is still bound to the chair.

A mysterious woman they knew little about, with an intimate knowledge of their family and most guarded secrets. That would raise a number of alarm bells for any intelligent wizard. Plus, her tendency to possess wands that were not hers does little to help her case. More to the point, one of said wands belonged to a dead man, and the other is virtually drenched in residual dark magic. Thankfully, Henry hasn't seemed all that eager to share the strange experience which occurred after entering the grounds, involving the family magiks and Hermione's own. All the same, it is certainly a struggle to paint her in a positive light, a fact that Newt quickly learns.

Despite Newt's defence on her behalf, they deemed it to be far too great a risk to allow Hermione free range within their ancestral home. Both Theseus and the Potters agree that Newt is no threat to themselves. But in response to their offer for his freedom, he made it abundantly clear that if they refuse to release Hermione, he will do everything in his power to get them out of there, he truly meant _everything. _Considering his normally gentle and light-hearted attitude, he seems to be taking a great deal of pleasure in describing exactly how he would pull off their escape.

One of his more interesting plans involved a horde of Garden Gnomes and a Jarvey. Even through her laughter, Hermione can't help but notice the way the corners of Newt's eyes seem to pull tight at the mention of the Jarvey, as though an old memory is causing him pain.

Casting a curious glance across the room, she notices that he isn't the only one reacting oddly. Both Theseus and Henry seem to find the carpet awfully interesting as Euphemia's girlish, good-natured laughter continues to fill the air, even after Hermione and Fleamont had calmed.

Hermione bites down on her lip in thought, rapidly shuffling through the shelves upon shelves of information and facts stored deep within the recesses of her mind. A curious look crossing her face as she finally lands on the information regarding the Jarvey.

Jarvey, a creature resembling an overgrown ferret and is commonly found in Great Britain, Ireland and North America. Capable of human speech and sometimes employed to De-Gnome gardens, though their methods were extremely brutal.

XXX classification, if Hermione remembers correctly. Most interestingly, one of the few creatures native to Great Britain that was not included in the first edition of Newt's book. It stands out the most with Hermione, even now she can't shake the sense of foreboding. Curious and worried brown eyes boring into Newt's fuming form.

It didn't escape her notice that Newt is now refusing to meet her gaze.

* * *

_This is getting them nowhere. _Henry thinks with a sigh; he discreetly shifts his weight from side to side.

There was enough tension in the room before Newt had gone ahead and brought up a number of difficult memories by mentioning the Jarvey, but now it's even worse. The only parties unaffected and unaware of the current situation seem to be his son, daughter-in-law and the mysterious Ms. Granger, to a much lesser extent.

If her unwavering stare at the youngest Scamander brother is anything to go by, it is clear that Newt has yet to share that part of his life with her. Though, unlike Fleamont and Euphemia, it does not escape her notice that the mention of the Jarvery has added an extra layer of tension to the room. It seems she'll soon learn why exactly there is so much tension between the once close brothers. Their bickering is nothing new, the two brothers as different as day and night, despite their appearances. It has been years since Henry first met the Scamander brothers, but he remembers it like it was yesterday.

It was the summer of 1909 when they first met. Newt had just finished his first year at Hogwarts, Theseus his fifth. Their father, who was largely absent for much of their lives, recently passed and their mother, a woman only a few years younger than Henry himself, was left to care for the two rebellious young boys all on her own.

Having known Cressida Scamander and her husband through his father's alliance and the connection between the families, Henry and his wife helped out whenever they could whilst the boys were away at Hogwarts.

Henry was surprised that Cressida wasn't driven mad by the pair. Theseus was constantly getting into trouble at Hogwarts. Since his first year, the eldest Scamander made a name for himself as a troublemaker. Though it wasn't until his third year, after his first meeting with Sixth Year Ravenclaw, Dominic Shafiq that the letters home became more frequent. Theseus was given detention persistently, and the letters often cited various disputes and incidents with the Ravenclaw. Even before Lord Scamander's death, Cressida was left to deal with the boys' mess, constantly sending out apology letters on behalf of her son, begging forgiveness from several Ancient, Pureblood families, many of which that were rather unforgiving.

And Newt — Well, let's just say that little had changed in regards to his behaviour and interests. There was never a creature or beast that hadn't called out to the boy, his thirst for knowledge and understanding was unquenchable, which eventually brought about a great deal of suffering for his family, and those he once called friends. Henry would never forget the day he and the Wizengamot had been called to Hogwarts to make an emergency ruling to expel a student. Little did he know, the student in question was someone he knew quite well.

He thanked Merlin, every day, that Cressida did not live to see that day. The shame Newt brought upon his family. A shame that Theseus worked hard to correct for the past 14 years, a shame, Henry believed that had driven an unmovable wedge between the once close brothers.

_Honesty, who would have thought two Hufflepuff's could get into so much trouble. _With a frown and a shake of his head, Henry attempts to ignore the wisps of memories forming within his mind. He refocuses back to Hermione Granger with the occasional glimpses of the family Magik, swirling lazily about her person. Feeling centred, he pushes his thoughts on the Scamander brothers and the days gone by away.

The curious topic of his family's Magick and its reaction to Ms. Granger is a conversation that desperately needs to be addressed; however, he has no idea how to go about it. Henry is also rather apprehensive to bring it up in front of the Scamanders and his family. Henry can't help but believe that the mystery will partially solve itself by learning how exactly Ms. Granger obtained such intimate knowledge of his family.

_Just who in the world is Hermione Jean Granger? How is she connected to the Potter family, to him?_

Henry bites back a curse as their eyes meet, intelligent whiskey coloured eyes boring into his intriguing hazel pair. A chill racing across his spine as her magic reaches out, gently caressing his own.

Instinctively, he summons his wand into his hand. A shaky breath falling from his parted lips as he trains it directly on Hermione, drawing the attention of all those present. All bar Theseus and Hermione verbally protest, but Henry stays still as a statue, wand raised and at the ready.

Another chill race through him as she quirks a brow, the corner of her lips pulling up ever so slightly. His mouth runs dry, pulse pounding as the image of a majestic lioness crosses his mind, her terrifying, powerful roar silencing every thought within his mind.

He struggles to swallow as she opens her mouth, a somewhat shaky laugh falling from her lips as her quiet voice fills the room, instantly silencing any protests within.

"Home, Henry. The magic it feels just like home." Henry's eyes widen, his own thoughts confirmed. Theseus, Fleamont, and Euphemia look at her in complete confusion, a shocked silence, very much unlike the suffocating one from before canvassing the dimly lit drawing room.

* * *

_Will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? _Hermione thinks derisively as Henry stalks forward, his footsteps halted only when his son Fleamont physically places himself between them.

"Veritaserum. Bring me some Veritaserum, now." Henry hollowly says, looking past his son, hazel eyes fixed on Hermione.

Hermione rolls her eyes with a heavy breath. Kind, sweet Newt begins protesting once more, Theseus looking on with the most curious expression, brilliant blue eyes focused on the Potters.

"Veritaserum..." Fleamont drawls incredulously, unable to believe what his father is saying. He shares a glance with his wife, sitting silently on the love seat with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Merlin, I don't just keep the stuff lying around, Father. The Ministry strictly controls its distribution and Brewers — I'm not going to hand over a vial of the most potent truth serum available without learning why exactly you've bound Ms. Granger and find it so necessary to question her. You haven't explained a thing. All we know is that you invited them, only to bind them and felt the need to summon Theseus. Answer my question, and I'll see what I can do."

There's a pause as the tension within the room continues to build.

"Cantankerus Nott, a schoolmate of yours, I believe. That bigoted arse thinks he's secretive, but it's the worst kept secret within certain, Pureblood circles. Young Mr. Nott is currently penning a list detailing all those families considered to be of the purest of blood. Ms. Granger, despite her well-known heritage, seems to have intimate knowledge of this project, including our supposed exclusion, which honestly I cannot say surprises me. Though I am curious to learn how she knows of our more liberal leanings and beliefs." Hermione sighs, lips pulling down into a frown at Henry's calmly spoken words. "More alarming than that, however, is the fact that she knows of our main Vault number and our most secret and prized family heirloom-"

"You can't mean?" Fleamont's question tumbles out from his mouth in a sharp breath.

"I do. Not even your mother was aware of this particular heirloom. Furthermore, Ms. Granger is in possession of, not one, but three different wands. One is hers, a testament to her power and is covered in her magical signature. The second the wand of a man recently found dead. However, the last wand is drenched in enough residual dark magic to make my skin crawl. The faded magical signature is somewhat disturbingly familiar, but does not belong to Ms. Granger." Silence meets his proclamation, but a masculine cough cuts through it and draws their attention.

"Henry, but you've only just met Hermione today," Theseus says in a slow and grave tone. Henry nods. "Then, how is it that you're familiar with her magic?"

Euphemia gasps. All eyes turning to Henry Potter as he attempts to formulate a reply. He and Hermione share a look. She quirks her brow as though issuing a challenge. From her side, she can just barely hear Newt sigh exasperatedly.

The howling winds fill the room as silence reigns. Hermione watches as Henry gulps, hard. The tension grows thick as Theseus' hard gaze flickers between her and the Potter patriarch. Hermione barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes at Theseus and his antics.

_Best to avoid antagonizing my captors any further. _She thinks, a slight smile curving her lips.

A clock ticks faintly in the distance, its hands moving slowly across its face as the minutes slowly pass. No one has any idea what to say, a shocked silence canvassing the room as they awkwardly look from one another.

Hermione squirms in her seat, nervous energy building steadily within her now, the Potter family magick and her own rolling about her skin in response.

A chill races down along her spine, the corners of her eyes pulling tight; any trace of amusement with their current situation vanishing as she pins Henry with an imploring stare. In response, the Potter Patriarch looks about the room, lingering on the tense and questioning forms of his son and Theseus before dropping his wand to his side.

The tension seeps from the room as a collective sigh is loosed. Henry lifts a single, shaking hand, and runs it through his messy black hair. A low, apprehensive sigh falling from his lips as he begins his tale.

* * *

_A trip would be lovely. Just have to get around that pesky travel ban. _Newt sighs as Henry nears the end of his tale. His head drops forward, eyes fluttering shut. His companions' voices rise and fall, filling the room as they attempt to shout over one another, each person eager have their own voices heard. He's tempted to look to Hermione, curious to see her reaction, yet he restrains himself, choosing instead to focus on his breathing and steadying his nerves.

It is little wonder that Newt prefers the company of beasts and creatures to that of humans if these past few months were anything to go by. The current situation beginning to grate on his nerves.

_Shock, fear, suspicion and anger. Why is it that humans, when faced with the unknown always respond in kind? _Newt muses, quietly humming under his breath in an attempt to drown out the noise around him.

_Perhaps a trip to the South of France? There have been rumours as of late claiming that a Snallygaster has been sighted in the area— _At the thought Newt's eyes flutter open, a deep wrinkle forming between his brows.

_No. No. Terrible idea. Perhaps we should go hunting for a less… volatile beast. _He thinks in a rush, biting down on his lip, sucking it between his teeth as an excited gleam enters his eyes. _A Snallygaster though - a Snallygaster in France. What in the world could it be doing there? If the rumours really were indeed true— _

Newt's suddenly pulled from his thoughts as silence falls over the room. He leans back in his chair, blowing his coppery brown hair away from his face with a huff before looking around with a curious gaze.

An agonizing minute passes before a feminine cough breaks the tension.

"I think you should trust her, and them. I have a feeling that only Ms. Granger can tell us why our family's magiks reacted the way it did. I imagine it has something to do with why she possesses such intimate knowledge regarding the Potter family and their secrets. A little trust goes a long way. How can you expect her to tell us a thing when you've magically bound her and Mr. Scamander like a pair of common criminals?" Euphemia states with a punctuated, sharp little laugh as she meets Newt's gaze. A small smile pulls at the corner of her lips, the slightest hint of teeth making her look very predatory in that moment, opposed to a docile prey as her manner of dress may suggest. "What do you say, Henry? Give the pair a bit of breathing room, question them like a civilized adult, and perhaps they'll be more willing to give you the answers you seek."

"And—" Euphemia pauses, sharing a look with her husband. "If that fails… although we don't have any Veritaserum on hand; _we do _know someone who does." Euphemia compromises, her dark brown eyes boring into the depths Newt's soul through her gaze.

Newt forces himself to look away as anxiety and fear claw his heart. He has no idea where the sudden rush of dread came from, but for some unfathomable reason, he feels like they're dancing right on the edge of a blade. His apprehension intensifies as his eyes settle on Henry.

Henry looks conflicted; hazel gaze darting between all of the rooms occupants before finally dancing between the two Scamander brothers. The weight of his gaze unsettling.

Meeting his conflicted look, Newts brows furrow in thought. A cold sweat breaking out across his skin as he attempts to place the look in Henry's eyes.

_Worry, regret and perhaps the slightest touch of... fear? _He instinctively shivers. Henry looks away, summoning his wand to his hand before mumbling a quiet spell under his breath.

The ropes fall slack around Hermione and Newt. Hermione slowly getting to her feet beside him a pleased sound falling from her lips.

Although he's finally free, Newt feels frozen in place. That bubble of fear and apprehension continue to build within him, a wisp of a memory consolidating in the darkest recesses of his mind.

_Don't be ridiculous. _Newt thinks as he attempts to catch Henry's eye once more.

Try as he might, the Potter Patriarch firmly refuses to look his way. His blood runs cold.

* * *

Miles away, in a Manor much like the Potter's, a single room is bathed in light.

If any thought to look into what was originally meant to be the ladies' drawing room, they'd be met with a rather eerie sight. In the centre is a potions laboratory, where a young woman stands in a thin, flowing dress of the most startling shade of white enshrouding her lithe body.

The dim, flickering light of the candles, strategically placed around the room, cast ghoulish shadows on the wall. A bubbling cauldron signals to the woman the potion's readiness. She bustles about, her flowing, almost indecent, white robes — a stark contrast against her dark skin and even darker hair.

She hums quietly under her breath, a melancholy sort of look on her face, a far away look in her eyes.

Pivoting on her heel, a handful of graceful steps carrying her across the length of the room. With steady, practiced hands she plucks a few leafs of Motherwort from its stem and tosses the loose leaves into the bubbling cauldron. The dark-haired woman stirs twice before extinguishing the flame. Before it has a chance to cool, she swiftly bottles the potion, a satisfied look dancing across her face as she notes its perfect consistency and colour.

_Nothing but the best. _Her lips curl into a small smile as she labels each vial, setting them aside for delivery in the morning.

* * *

"Who?" Newt asks; anxiety and fear clear in his voice. "Who would have Veritaserum on hand?" All eyes fall on his form; Hermione's fingers seeking out his own.

A sudden wave of calm crashes into him as their hands meet. It feels like a great weight has been lifted from his chest, making it easier to breathe. He turns his head ever so slightly, gifting Hermione a small smile of thanks. She answers with the slightest squeeze of her hand.

Unfortunately, the calm vanishes as abruptly as it came. Henry's hazel eyes settle firmly on the floor.

"Lestrange. Leta Lestrange." He replies, tone grave.

Fear, terror, anxiety and hatred slam into Newt, the sheer force of the overwhelming emotions nearly sending him to his knees. A pained groan tears its way from his lips as he looks down at Hermione and his joined hands. Their companions rush forward, their tones taking on a frantic edge as Newt's gaze falls upon Hermione. He wants nothing more than to reach out to her, to gently cup her cheek, pull her close into his embrace, and whisper sweet nothings until her frayed nerves are finally soothed. To ride out this wave of anxiety and fear together until it's nothing more than a distant memory.

"Hermione." He groans, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He tries to reach out to her with his free hand, but an unexpected spike of pain bends him in half. His free arm, now cradles his stomach, as his legs give way and he drops to his knees. Their hands remain joined as he continues to stare at Hermione — his lips parted, mouth running dry, his vision beginning to blur. Through the haze, he takes note of her wildly curled hair, splayed about her head like a riotous halo and the way her whiskey-coloured eyes seem to be ablaze with emotion.

However, what's more shocking are the swirls of magic he swears he can see, dancing and weaving across her skin in a hypnotizing way.

Is it a hallucination? He can't be sure.

"Stunning" He mumbles, the feeling of unadulterated awe tumbling from his lips unbidden as the world falls away, a cradle of darkness meeting his descent.


	9. The Jarvey Incident and a Family Matter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Originally edited by Nyxie. Any mistakes now present would be thanks to any dicking about I did in this chapter... oops! Thanks for the reviews guys!

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone. As a perk you get to read each chapter before everyone else. Eh... eh? If no one offers themselves up as Beta ch. 10's coming at you all unedited and I can't promise that will be great so that's something to think about!

This is it guys! The final chapter I originally released before going on a 2 year hiatus... sorry about that again. I need to do the final read through and edits for chapter 10 but it should be coming at you guys soon enough. Also my apologies to any new readers who have gotten used to my regular updates... that's going to change now. These first 9 were already written and just needed a few tweaks, it's uncharted territory from here on out and that mean I need to take my time to create something that you hopefully all enjoy. Anywho... Let's get on with it!

* * *

"...Newt."

Someone's calling his name. It sounds distant and as if, it isn't truly his own thought. The surrounding darkness muffles the noise of the world around. His mind feels sluggish as if it's being dragged through a puddle of tar.

"Newt." There it is again. A feminine and achingly familiar voice that latches onto him like a lifeline, attempting to lead him out and into the light. That familiar voice, sounding so close, yet so very far away.

_"Newt!" _His eyes shoot open. Startled, a curse falls from his lips as a sharp slap violently tears him away from his momentary reverie. He pins the woman in question with a stupefied look, his mouth dropping open, the stinging in his cheek — a painful reminder of his less than stellar wake-up call.

Hermione has the decency to look, at least, somewhat apologetic. A rosy blush covering her freckled cheeks as she kneels beside him with her dark brown eyes flickering, rapidly over his person.

Newt responds in kind; blue eyes darting over her frame, taking stock of her appearance as he searches for any sign of injury.

_It was a hallucination then. _He breathes out a relieved sigh, taking note of the lack of raw magical energy dancing and weaving across her tanned skin.

_Not even a hair out of place. _

A small smile stretches across his lips. A sudden rush of relief racing across his senses before slamming into a wall of confusion. He quirks a brow, the corners of his lips quirk down as he examines her fabric clad knees.

"Hermione—" He begins hesitantly with a questioning lilt to his voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but were we not in the drawing room of Potter Manor, only moments before and not a forest... Is-is this another hallucination?" He pauses as their eyes meet. "Are you really... well - you?"

The howling winds cause Newt to turn to the sky, watching with wide eyes as the canopy of trees above their heads sway in the breeze.

_The trees are real. Or so they seem..._

Something is wrong. Something is missing. Newt's brows furrow, eyes focusing on the world around them, until finally, it hits him. He realizes just what is missing… it's silent. There's not a noise, not even the sounds of creatures that are normally found in any forest. The absence of smell, not a single scent lingers in the air, not even the smell of the moist dirt, that clings to his skin and covers his clothes. Most interestingly is the sky. The sky looks clear and bright and yet the sun is nowhere to be seen. There is no way to tell what time of day it is, or how much sunlight they may yet have left.

_Fascinating_. Newt muses, lifting a dirty hand to the sky, squinting his eyes as though attempting to riddle it out until a rustle of fabric pulls him back to reality.

"Or, whatever this may be." He mumbles quietly under his breath as he looks to Hermione, standing before him now, hand outstretched with a guarded look in her whisky-coloured eyes.

Without a thought, Newt reaches out, calloused fingers finding purchase upon her lightly scarred skin. He relaxes a little as he feels the heat radiating off of her palm, laying a few of his unspoken doubts to rest. Yet, there is a sliver of doubt that continues to dwell within as she pulls him to his feet. He parts his lips, a question dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Are you real— Are you really... you?" Hermione asks; her words mimicking Newt's own. A touch of mistrust and fear filtering through her eyes.

"Are any of us really?" Newt asks with a small, playful smile dancing across his lips as he holds her gaze.

Newt doesn't miss the flash of irritation in her eyes or the exasperated sigh that falls from her lips, though they do nothing to stop his smile from growing. A toothy grin filling his face as he pulls her close. Her frowning lips transforming into an 'O' as a rush of breath is released from her lungs.

A thrill races through Newt as their bodies meld together. Hermione's wild, curls tickling his cheek as he buries his nose into her hair. He inhales deeply, feeling his body relax ever so slightly as her familiar scent filters through his senses.

A beat later, he pulls away. His free hand resting upon her chin as he tilts her face up so he can gaze into her eyes. He wonders now if she can see the spark of fear and unease in him — the same that he sees in her.

_Of course, she can. _A jolt of pleasure rushes through him as her free hand snakes around his waist, her curious fingers easily sliding beneath the layers of clothing before digging into his rapidly warming skin.

_Feels real enough. _He licks his lips, Hermione's eyes following his every move.

"This place—" Hermione mutters lowly, a hint of gravel in her tone as she slowly lifts her gaze. "It isn't real, it can't be..."

Newt hums quietly under his breath, hand dropping to her hip where he begins to draw lazy circles on her fabric-clad skin.

"I take it you know where we are." A statement, not a question.

Hermione sucks her lower lip into her mouth, worrying the sensitive skin between her teeth.

"It's the Forbidden Forest." The statement hangs between them, motions stilled as the winds howls turn into roars.

* * *

The howling wind breaks the uneasy silence blanketing the room, as Fleamont takes stock of the current situation in the drawing room of Potter Manor.

The room's occupants are shaken. In the corner Theseus sits rigidly in one of the wingback chairs, elbows on his knees, hands pressed together as though in a silent prayer.

Henry stands by the fireplace, gaze firmly attached to the unconscious, wild-haired woman propped up on the loveseat beside the equally unconscious, youngest Scamander brother.

_Euphemia. _His beautiful wife is crouched in front of the loveseat — a safe distance from the unconscious pair — wand out as she draws a series of complex spells in the air, attempting to discover what exactly happened.

Fleamont is tempted to go to her when he notices the sweat beading along her hairline, but he stays pressed against the wall with a tumbler filled with fingers of whiskey, at the sight of her full lips set in a stubborn line, mumbling under her breath.

If things had been different. If Euphemia had been born in another time or to another family, perhaps, his darling wife would have made a brilliant curse breaker. If any in this room could figure out what was wrong with Hermione and Newt, it would be Euphemia.

Fleamont drops his gaze to the swirling brown liquid within his glass, a thoughtful look filling his face as the incident that occurred mere moments before replays as a memory within his head.

_'—Leta Lestrange.' _

Two words. The name of Fleamont's silent business partner and acquaintance seemingly acted as the catalyst for the incident. Moments after her name fell from his father's lips, it all went to hell — and honestly, that was saying something considering how well their meeting with Ms. Granger and Newt had gone thus far.

When Newt fell, Theseus was quick to draw his wand, shooting off a quick succession of spells at Hermione, instantly dubbing her a threat as his brother fell unconscious to the floor.

Theseus's aim was true, but not one of his spells hit their mark...

_The air grew thick and heady; an electric charge filled the space around them as Fleamont watched the scene before him with wide eyes. He quickly rushed forward in an attempt to assist Newt as he fell, though it became evident that something was blocking their way, making it impossible to reach Newt. Or Hermione._

_Raw magical energy seemed to swirl and dance around Newt's companion, colourful wisps of power licked at her tanned, golden skin as her dark brown hair curled wildly about her head like Medusa's serpents._

_If her eyes hadn't been closed... well, best not to dwell on that ridiculous thought._

_Theseus shot off a quick succession of spells at Hermione, but each seemed to hit a cocoon-like barrier before bursting into a shower of brilliantly coloured sparks._

_A violent string of curses tumbling from his lips before suddenly halting as a numbing silence fell upon them. The whorls of magic dancing across Hermione's skin were lashing out, yet caused no harm as a sigh fell quietly from her lips, knees giving out as she falls to the ground, unconscious, her body splayed, lifelessly, like a ragdoll. _

Fleamont lifts his glass to his lips, hand trembling the slightest bit. The whiskey warms his tongue and throat as he takes an ample gulp, in an attempt to calm his nerves.

It doesn't work.

For a moment, just one, Fleamont had honestly thought she was dead. The way she had fallen, her limbs bent at awkward angles beneath her body, and yet the magiks continued to dance about her. Something achingly familiar about the odd metallic taste that seemed to permeate the air as the raw energy spiked.

"Henry—" Euphemia's tired voice cuts through his thoughts. "I'm having trouble healing her arm."

Fleamont silently watches as his father steps forward, stopping mere inches away from the loveseat. A quick glance about the room tells Fleamont that even Theseus is watching as his father reaches past the magical barrier. The, now, lazily moving wisps of magic licking his skin, accepting him as he gently grips Hermione's shoulders, turning her slightly, so Euphemia has a better angle to heal her injuries from.

His father's face relaxes a shade as the tension melts away from his features. Although Euphemia and Theseus seem confused by this reaction, Fleamont understands. He had experienced that very feeling only moments before.

_Theseus stalks forward, wand still clutched tightly in hand, a look of intent on his face as he draws closer to Hermione and his brother._

_There's no hesitation as he thrust his arm forward in an attempt to grasp his brother's arm; however, just like his spells, Theseus fails as the magiks, that were lazily swirling about Hermione react aggressively, lashing out in a violent flash of colour as they throw him across the room._

_A startled gasp falls from Euphemia's lips as she rushes to Theseus's side, his quiet groan letting them know that he is mostly unharmed._

_A flash of movement from his side draws his attention to his father. With wide eyes, he watches as Henry steps forward with a focused look in his eyes as he approaches the magical cocoon encasing Newt and Hermione. Fleamont opens his mouth, but his protest dies on his lips as his father's hand easily passes the barrier. A relaxed look falling across his face as he pulls Hermione into a sitting position._

_'Fleamont, come here." His words leaving no room for argument. Fleamont quickly complies. A rush of anxiety jolting through him just as he reaches the edge of the barrier, looking on apprehensively and fearful as he meets his fathers gaze. He was far too relaxed._

_'Help me get them onto the loveseat.' Still, Fleamont hesitates, his body seemingly frozen in place._

_'Home, Fleamont. The magik feels just like home.' He quirks a brow at his fathers words, easily recalling them from earlier that night. His eyes widening in shock as something clicks in his head. Tentatively, Fleamont reaches forward, meeting no resistance as he passes through the barrier, a sudden rush of calm smashing into him. _

"Done." Immediately, Fleamont rushes towards Euphemia's side, his trip down memory lane shoved swiftly to the back of his mind. With trembling hands, he cups his beloved's face, gently caressing the smooth skin of her cheeks. He places a kiss on her temple, then rests his forehead against her own, burying his hands into her gently curling hair.

His father clears his throat, causing Fleamont to reluctantly release his wife, but not before slowly running his eyes along her body. He makes note of the deep blush that covers her cheeks, an amused smirk curving his lips as he turns to his father, a brow raised in question.

"Euphemia," Henry begins, hazel eyes firmly attached to his daughter-in-law. "Were you able to discern what has happened to our guests?" His father asks in an overly formal manner.

Fleamont shares a look with his wife, discreetly slipping his hand into her own, giving her a gentle squeeze to let her know that he's here. She rewards him with a small smile of thanks, before turning to face his father once more, squaring her shoulders.

"It's clear that Hermione and Newt are bound in some way—" A snort comes from Theseus with a hint of amusement, causing the trio to look at him in question as Euphemia continues.

_He knows something._

"I can't tell you why, or how, but their magic is intrinsically bound. That's interesting enough on its own. However, I found another surprise whilst I was checking over Hermione. Not only is her magic intimately bound to Newt's, and his to hers. But, there's another, even more, familiar magical signature present."

Her statement hangs in the air. None of them all that surprised by the confirmation of their shared bond, but confused none the less...

"But how?" Fleamont can't help but ask, brows furrowed in thought and confusion. The night's events running through his head once more as he attempts to make sense of their unusual bond. "It's familial, without a doubt, but it doesn't make an ounce of sense." He continues, voicing the unspoken thought. "Given her age, the bond would have had to be made with one of us. Our distinctive family magik wouldn't have reacted so strongly if she was bound to one of the cadet branches or a Potter through marriage. It- It just makes no sense."

A masculine sigh fills the room, the legs of a chair scraping across the floor as Theseus stands. The Potters look to the man in question as he approaches them, long legs carrying him across the drawing room floor in no time at all.

"I can't be sure, but I think I may have an idea. There's something you should know. Something that may be best left unknown." Fleamont's heart skips a beat, a lump forming in his throat as he shares a wide-eyed look with Euphemia, hand clenching around her own reflexively.

A feeling of dread filling him now as he begins to imagine what more could possibly be said.

* * *

Hermione stares at Newt's back. Eyes pulled tight, jaw set in a stubborn line as she carefully treads across the uneven ground of the Forbidden Forest.

They'd only started walking around for a few moments, but it felt like longer. At first, they attempted to head in the general direction of Hogwarts; however, that didn't work. They only covered a few feet before bumping into an invisible barrier. After that, they decided to focus more on their surroundings. Hermione quickly realized that there was no castle in the distance. They were clearly on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, yet something wasn't right. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was nowhere to be found.

They tried each direction, steadfastly refusing to travel any deeper into the Forbidden Forest until it became apparent that it was their only choice.

Newt fell unusually silent as they journeyed deeper into the dense brush. The wind continuing to howl above their heads. Hermione's intelligent eyes focusing on his tensed shoulders and the slightest hint of hesitation in his steps.

This situation is unusual, without a doubt, but something more was off about Newt.

_If it truly is him. _She thinks, a sliver of doubt swirling within her still.

Hermione's pulled away from her inner musings as a garbled, bestial scream fills the air.

Slowly, Newt turns. They share a look, eyes widening in shock as Hermione brakes into a run, roughly grabbing hold of a protesting Newt and dragging him behind her, pulling them deeper and deeper into the woods. Each, hurried step drawing them ever closer to that mysterious, bestial scream.

* * *

_"—A childhood lost, a war to be won_

_There is much that must yet be done_

_A prophecy made, may yet come undone_

_For her journey through time has not yet begun"_

Theseus's steady voice fills the room. The prophesized words falling from his slightly shaking lips as he brings their hosts up to speed. Praying to any gods listening that he isn't making a grave mistake. Truly hoping that he isn't wrong in what he believes yet very much afraid that he's right.

* * *

Hermione's breath comes in gasps. Her dark eyes darting about wildly, looking for any sign of danger as she weaves them between the rows of trees and brush. The bestial screams growing louder as she closes the distance between them and the potential threat.

Bile rises in her throat, the memory of her time on the run attempting to make its presence known. Behind her Newt protests, his words muffled by the blood pounding in her head.

She can't stop. Her senses kick into overdrive, nerve endings set ablaze as her fight-or-flight response is triggered.

Instead of running away, she runs towards the potential threat. Growing up the way she did, after all that Harry, Ron and she had faced in the war, there is little doubt to what she would choose. There was no other choice but to fight.

Whether what they were experiencing now was real or not, she just couldn't let it be.

* * *

_"—Linger not, dear child, for you must make haste_

_Do not let this chance go to waste_

_As magic flares and sings, two shall become one_

_Yet do not try to outrun the sun_

_The sun will set, the dusk will fall_

_A song will be sung, the darkness will call_

Euphemia gasps. Fleamont begins to curse quietly under his breath. Henry struggles to swallow the lump which has formed in his throat as a cold sweat breaks out across his hairline, Theseus's words really beginning to sink in.

Hazel eyes fall upon the forms of his unconscious guests, brows furrowing in thought as he takes note of Hermione's hand twitching around Newt's own, her lips seeming to move the slightest bit.

_Curious. _He thinks; intellectual curiosity piqued once more before his attention is drawn back to Theseus and the worrisome prophecy falling from his lips.

* * *

Hermione comes to a grinding halt. Feet digging into the moist earth as they enter a clearing, deep within the canopy of trees, sequestered away in a seemingly abandoned section of the Forbidden Forest.

Frantic eyes take in the scene before her as she drops Newt's hand, taking a step forward, her shaking legs nearly sending her to the ground.

Before them, a young woman is kneeling on the forest floor, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the wet earth seeping into the knees of her dark grey socks, and the two intruders arriving in the clearing.

Before her is a large metal cage. The beast within hurling short, rude statements and phrases in a constant stream. High-pitched screeches and screams punctuating its speech every few _words_.

_A Jarvey and an unhappy one at that. _Hermione's mind supplies as she glances over her shoulder, noticing the look of alarm on Newt's face before turning back to the scene at hand.

The creature squirms, digging its hind legs into the ground before kicking up, sending a spray of mud onto the young woman.

She clucks her tongue. Irritated, she breathes through her nose and wipes at the mud staining her dark grey gymslip. The young girl palms a small book filled with parchment, pulling a quill from her dark, curling hair before making a short note on the already full pages.

The Jarvery screeches again, a loud, high-pitched sound that's full of rage before releasing a relentless stream of curses, each more unintelligible then the last as it thrashes about in its cage.

Hermione's brows furrow. Her feet, moving of their own accord, drawing her closer to the caged Jarvey and the unusual young woman.

* * *

_"-Rewind, recast as events fray at the seams_

_The truth is not what it first may seem_

_Not all that has happened will come to pass_

_As the gathering darkness begins to amass"_

A garbled sort of noise draws their attention to the loveseat. Even Theseus looks concerned at the sudden noise. All eyes focus on the mysterious Ms. Granger, yet she refuses to make another sound.

Clearing his throat, Theseus continues; however, one set of striking hazel eyes stay firmly fixed on the time travelling woman and her chosen companion.

* * *

A twig snaps behind her— dead leaves being crushed under the soles of someone's feet. Hermione turns, roughly wiping at the tears that have gathered in her eyes, that ball of dread growing heavier in her chest. Her eyes widen in shock as she momentarily questions her sanity.

She's seeing double. A few feet away Newt stands.

_Her Newt. _She thinks, struggling to swallow, throat bobbing almost erratically.

Just behind _her _Newt, a much younger, school-aged Newt stands. His yellow and black Hufflepuff tie, almost blindingly bright, that recognizable copper-brown hair sticking up every which way, his generous spattering of freckles noticeable even from this distance against his pallid skin.

The younger Newt rushes forward, right towards her Newt, phasing through him like a horror movie ghost through a wall. Reflexively, her hand jumps to her mouth, muffling a shocked squeal of surprise as the boy rushes forward, each step moving him closer to the centre of the clearing where the young girl is kneeling in front of the caged Jarvey.

_A memory. We're somehow within a memory. _Hermione thinks; horror beginning to dawn on her as she pins Newt with a worried stare.

_And for once, this isn't one of my own. _

* * *

_"—Heed thy warning, lest they fail_

_Not all can be changed, no matter the scale"_

* * *

Hermione turns back to the scene, watching the memory play out in real time before her..

Within the cage, the Jarvey now lays curled in a ball, clearly giving up the fight, a few select insults being loosed from it's mouth as the wild-haired young woman crouches on the ground beside it. Her dated Hogwarts uniform rumpled, green and silver tie hanging loosely around her neck, grass stains on her sock clad knees and a few leaves tangled in her wild hair.

Memory Newt rushes forward, worried eyes on the defeated Jarvey within the cage.

"What have you done?" He rasps out, voice heavy with emotion as tears forms in the corners of his eyes.

"Found a Jarvey." The young girl replies, eyebrows raised with a confused glint. "You had been going on the other day about how you were unable to find one so I found one for you." She continues, tone even and steady, dark eyes firmly focused on Newt's own.

"No." Memory Newt grits his teeth, the corners of his eyes pulling tight as his irritation spikes. "Not like this."

He opens the latch on the cage, ignoring his friend's protests, sticking a single hand into the cage, gently grasping the Jarvey's body, pulling it from its confines before cradling the small creature to his chest.

A pained noise fills the clearing, silencing the young woman's protests, the small sound coming from the beast now cradled in Newt's arms. He gently examines the creature, panic seeming to grip him in its unrelenting grasp.

"Honestly, it's fine—" The young woman insists, a frustrated edge to her voice, rolling her beautiful dark brown eyes before begrudgingly depositing her parchment filled notepad into a messy bag on the forest floor.

"It's not." Both memory Newt and Hermione's Newt say at once. Their dual speeches cause an echo like effect to Hermione's ears. She looks to her companion with wide, tear-filled eyes, only now noticing that he's closed the distance between them. One final step positions him beside her, calloused fingers brushing against her own that lay limp at her side.

"No, it's not fine. He's not fine." Memory Newt finishes, disappointment and pain clear in his voice.

Hermione gives Newt's hand a squeeze, looking up at the stunning man he's become before looking back to the boy he once was, seeing the similarities. A small, sad smile pulling at her lips as she does her best to ignore the tremors in his hands.

* * *

_"-There must be a balance, a price to be paid."_

* * *

The sound of laughter fills their ears, a group of students seem to be moments away from entering the clearing, drawing ever closer to the odd pair of students and the seemingly injured beast.

"Lestrange—" Hermione's heart skips a beat, frozen in place as Newt's fingers tighten around her own.

_Of course. _She thinks bitterly. Finally, she can put a name to the face.

"—why am I not surprised to find you here looking like some sort of wild woman? I shouldn't be surprised considering your upbringing" A young man taunts, the smirk contorting his handsome, aristocratic face.

Hermione looks at his tie. Brows rising in shock as she's met with the sight of blue and bronze, instead of silver and green. Her cheeks redden as a wave of embarrassment rushes over her.

_When you assume... _With a slight shake of her head, Hermione silently recognizes that her own prejudice is showing. Only a fool would assume that only Slytherin's were bad. Honestly, she should have known better by this point.

Eyes focusing once more on the scene, Hermione notices the look of anger quickly spreading across memory Newt's face.

Suddenly, with a startling screech, the Jarvey rears up, sharp claws slicing through the front of Newt's button down before falling to the leaf-covered forest floor with a thud.

Another bestial scream fills the air as it launches itself at one of the boys. All manner of human speech gone, the creature reverting back to a most beast-like state as it claws and bites at the boy's clear, pale skin.

Unseen by all but Hermione and the present-day Newt, Leta watches on with a slight curve to her lips.

Hermione swallows, hard, a cold sweat breaking out across her hairline as the familiarity of that expression smashes into her like the Hogwarts Express.

* * *

_"-Heed they warning..._

_Born of the mud, she with the lion heart roars."_

The softly spoken words filter through Newt's senses. The familiarity of the words threatening to send him back in time as he struggles his way through the mental fog. Panic grips him as he's suddenly thrust forward into consciousness, blue eyes flying open, a strangled noise tumbling from his shaking lips.

Wide-eyed and hyperventilating, Newt barely notices his brother rushing forward. Confusion pricks him when Theseus stops only a few feet away; apprehension and fear apparent in his body language and face. He looks about the room, taking stock of the expressions of the room's occupants as he settles his breath.

All, but the Potter Patriarch look at him with concern. Slowly raising a brow, Newt follows the hazel eyed line of sight, frantic blue eyes falling on Hermione beside him.

Fear crashes into him, breath coming in heaving gasps, any progress made in calming himself now gone as he notices that Hermione is still unconscious. Their hands joined, the odd magiks weaving about her, a golden string seeming to tie their joined hands together.

_Not a hallucination then. _He thinks, the thought sounding distant and groggy.

Another strangled noise falls from Newt's lips as Henry rushes forward, he watches as if in slow motion as Henry reaches out, a single lightly-aged hand drawing closer.

Moving on autopilot, Newt lifts his free hand, stopping Henry's own before it can reach its mark. Henry stumbles, a shock of magic seeming to smash into him as their skin meets.

Next, to Newt, Hermione startles awake, eyes alarmingly alert, yet somehow far away as she reaches out. Another shock of magic smashing into not only Henry, but Newt as well, creating a rather unusual, yet entirely silent display that the other three occupants of the room would argue about for days.

Later, when his family and Theseus would ask what had occurred in the few, tense moments that followed the odd display, Henry would pin them with a withering look. His patience with the constant questioning growing thin. He simply replies with the same statement, time and time again, altering it only slightly depending on who asked.

_"It's a family matter." _


	10. Public Opinion

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Thanks for the reviews guys! Here's a brand new chapter for both my old and new readers! Unedited of course so hopefully it isn't too awful, a bit short and I think I may be flailing a bit while attempting to get back into this writing thing so take it easy on me! Also... still writing chapter 11 so that may take a while...

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone. As a perk you get to read each chapter before everyone else. Eh... eh? You really don't have to do too much... I just need a pair of fresh eyes to catch anything I miss, tell me when i'm being repetitive or flipping between tenses and a few other small-ish issues.

* * *

20 February, 1927

**Is Vigilante Justice Ever the Answer?**

_ We here at The Daily Prophet were shocked to learn that the recent heroes of the Wizarding World were taken into custody two days ago while making a visit to The Ministry of Magic. The orders for arrest were issued by our very own ebullient Minister for Magic, Hector Fawley._

_When asked about the incident the Minister had this to say, " Of Course we are thankful for what Mr. Scamander and his companion did for the Wizarding World. However, what they and the public must understand is that vigilante justice is never the answer-"_

* * *

"Honestly, some things never change." Hermione scoffs, tossing her copy of the prophet to the side, uncaring as the water from the enclosure before her seeps into the paper causing the ink to run, obscuring the article and the words of Hector Fawley, the pompous prick.

She looks to Newt, kicking her legs slightly in the black water surrounding her feet. The large open pool before her filling to the brim with water as Newt and the Kelpie breach the surface. The Kelpie now bridled and docile as Newt sits astride the shape-shifting water demon, his white button down sticking to his toned chest.

_Years of wrangling beasts has certainly paid off. _Hermione muses, her mouth running dry at the sight, blood rushing to her head. She's so transfixed by the sight that she doesn't hear Newt calling for her.

"Hermione-" She licks her lips, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down on the tender flesh there, brown eyes taking in everything before her, tracking the trail of a single water droplet as it curves down his neck before absorbing into the already soaked fabric of his shirt.

"Hermione." She's tempted to reach out, run her fingers across his chest, tearing open those buttons one by one in order to see what lies beneath-

"Hermione!" With a jolt she's pulled from her reverie. Shaking her head, curls dancing in the air her eyes meet Newt's. He has a knowing look on his face which causes a blush to burn across her face in a heated wave. She's half tempted to bury her head in her hands, hiding her face in embarrassment but instead plasters the slightest of smirks on her face. An eyebrow quirked as though issuing a challenge.

"Someone needed to let off some steam." Hermione nearly chokes at the sly smile now curving his lips and the way he's looking at her from beneath his lash's. The double entendre as obvious as the Erumpent in the room. Her heart races, a shaky laugh escaping her lips in response.

"Ointment, if you'd please." Newt continues, never once tearing his heated gaze from Hermione's own.

She passes it to him, hands shaking the lightest bit. Still mounted, Newt gently brushes the Kelpie's bulrush mane to the side, applying the ointment to a wound on its neck before dismounting.

He stands beside Hermione now, water dripping in thick rivulets from his body. He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back, a boyish smile on his freckled face, blue eyes full of barely disguised mirth.

With a strangled noise Hermione lunges, bodies meeting in a mess of limbs, her fingers tangling in his reddish brown hair as their lips meet in a heated and much overdue kiss.

Neither giving much thought to their beastly audience as the now harmless Kelpie dives back into the deep, the black water receding with it.

* * *

25 February, 1927

**Where in the World is Gellert Grindelwald?**

_The hacks over at The New York Ghost would have you believe that everything is ok in the world. They want you to be complacent and naive to the horrors yet to come. They don't want you to question the Government and those pulling their strings from the shadows. They don't want you to question how it was that Gellert Grindelwald the greatest criminal of our time has managed to escape. They don't want you to question his current whereabouts or contemplate his next heinous move._

_Worry not dear readers, we here at The Wizard's Voice are champions of the people. Our only wish is to provide you with every tool necessary to make these decisions for yourself. A wise wizard once said, "No Witch or Wizard should ever be denied the truth." and we couldn't agree more._

_For more on the Criminal known as Gellert Grindelwald, turn to Page 5._

_For an opinion piece on Madam President Seraphina Picquery and her role in Grindelwalds escape, turn to page 8._

* * *

"You have joined a noble cause, my friends." Gellert Grindelwald promises his voice steady and strong as he slowly meets the eye of each and every one of the small handful of Witches and Wizards surrounding him. He pauses, as he meets Abernathy's eye. Noting how the other man can barely contain his excitement, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, fists clenched tight. Grindelwald can't help but allow his thoughts to linger on the man in question.

Abernathy was a rather unremarkable man, a man often overlooked. From his looks to his job as the supervisor in the Wand Permit Office of the MACUSA everything about him was absolutely average. Yet he was a man like any other, a man who wished to be great, to be noticed, to be _loved_.

Grindelwalds lips curl at the thought.

It was clear as day that Abernathy had resigned himself to that unremarkable life of his long ago. He spent most of his days simply going through the motions and passing the time. It was as though, for him, the world was painted grey, not a single splash of colour to brighten the scene. This remained true until that faithful day, a day that on the surface appeared to be a day like any other. The day that Abernathy was first assigned to stand guard at _his_ door.

It took little effort to persuade the man, to convince him that at last _someone _had seen his worth. The fact that Abernathy was viewed as unremarkable and often overlooked was an asset to Grindelwald.

All it had taken was few well placed words and Gellert Grindelwald had secured his escape and an inside man. A man that would never be suspected and most likely overlooked when his unusual absence during Grindelwalds escape was noticed at long last.

_Oh yes, the unremarkable man had his use. All those surrounding him did._

* * *

10 March, 1927

**Granger Unmasked!**

_ No more than 2 weeks ago, dear readers did we learn that the mysterious Miss Granger, the woman who assisted in the capture of the criminal known as Grindelwald was in fact a distant relative of the Potter Family. There's no need to imagine our surprise when the news finally broke seeing as how we_ _here at The Daily Prophet were given the exclusive by Henry Potter himself, yet many questions have yet to be answered, many mysteries remain unsolved. _

_For More on the mysterious Miss Granger and her cohorts, see page 10._

* * *

Henry Potter leans back in his ornate wingback chair with a sigh, pushing his copy of The Daily Prophet aside as his eyes glaze over, wisps of memory wrapping him in their stark embrace.

_After the incident in the drawing room Hermione, Newt and Henry retired to Henry's personal office, their plans for dinner entirely forgotten. All but the wand of the late Percival Graves returned to the pair, Hermione and by extension Newt no longer deemed a threat to any present._

_Fleamont, Euphemia and Theseus had protested their exclusion from the meeting that was about to be had when Henry stated his intentions. _

_Quite loudly at that. _Henry thinks with a tired shake of his head as he glances about the small office, hazel eyes settling on the single handsome leather chair seated across from his desk.

_All it took was a hard look from the Potter patriarch to silence their arguments before he sent a mutinous looking Theseus on his way, Graves' wand clutched tight in hand. The promise of a meeting and drinks at a later date proposed by Henry in an attempt to mollify the eldest Scamander brother. Theseus begrudgingly did as he was asked but not before pulling Newt into a tight hug. The pair painting an unusual picture of brotherly love as Theseus gripped the back of his brothers neck, whispering quietly into Newts ear._

_None but the brothers and Hermione were near enough to hear the quietly spoken words but all would agree that the forced and awkward laugh loosed by Newt as the brothers separated appeared to be cause for concern. _

_"I wasn't sure we'd ever be rid of my son and his wife." Henry jokes once the trio is alone in an attempt to lighten the mood. Though it's evident from his tone that he too feels the oppressive weight that seems to blanket the office and its occupants._

Euphemia and Fleamont had been far more reluctant to accept Henry's change of plans. Fleamont arguing for their inclusion in the conversation while Euphemia once more argued the lack of manners being displayed that night. Henry knew that while Euphemia simply argued the lack of manners she was truly interested in the conversation and secrecy surrounding the nights events if the gleam in her eye was anything to go by.

_"Please sit, we have much to discuss" Henry begins, his attempt at lightening the mood forgotten as he motions towards a pair of transfigured chairs._

_With a nod and a glance at Hermione, Newt attempts to lead the alarmingly silent woman to the pair of handsome leather chairs but it's as though a sticking charm has been applied to her feet. _

_She meets the eyes of their host once more, that ever defiant look in her lovely brown eyes._

_"Agreed." She says, a steely edge to her voice. "But first an Unbreakable Vow seems to be in order." _

Another long suffering sigh is loosed from his lips, the silence in his office becoming oppressive. He stands, moving a few steps to look out the window positioned behind his desk. Starring out into the gardens below, a pensive look on his face.

After ironing out the details and swearing the vow, Hermione reluctantly shared her connection to the Potter family and more about his family's future and her past.

Henry could hardly believe the words coming out of the young time travelling womans mouth. The way she nonchalantly spoke of ancient Ritual Magick's, Black family tomes, blood bonds and the near end of the Potter line sent a chill racing along his spine.

_That was her reality, her past. _He thinks, the furrow of his brows growing ever deeper.

Not even Fleamont and Euphemia could know the truth. Yet he made Hermione and Newt promise, that when the time was right they would share this tale with his son and daughter-in-law, share the tale of _'The Golden Trio' _ and the_ 'Boy Who Lived',_ a boy who would one day be his great grandson. However, for now even those he called family were not allowed to know the truth. They were fed the same woven tale given to the public.

The tale of a young girl whose records were indeed lost just as Abraham Longbottom had suggested. A Muggleborn witch born to muggle parents. Her ancestry unknown until a chance meeting with the Potter patriarch. Upon which time the Family Magick's had reacted alerting Henry to their relation. Miss Granger, it would seem was a very distant cousin of the Potter Family. Born the last of a squib line long thought dead. At least that was the story the public would believe.

Thanks to Henry and the Potter family name most would accept this explanation with little question. Allowing the young time travelling woman a better standing in this time and a way to explain away her mysterious arrival as well as the lack of information regarding her person. It wasn't perfect, but it would save her from being scrutinized too closely for the time being

_As long she managed to stay out of trouble. _Henry thinks, a slight smirk curving his lips as he realizes how laughable the idea of the young woman staying out of trouble is given her current choice of companion alone.

_The next few years would be interesting indeed. _Little did he know how true that statement would prove to be.

* * *

25 March, 1927

_**Trouble in Paradise?** _

_Can't the Scamander brothers catch a break? _

_Newt Scamander, Magizoologist, international best selling author and one half of the duo credited with assisting in the initial capture and imprisonment of Gellert Grindelwald was recently spotted at Flourish and Blotts on Diagon Alley where the launch party for his now bestselling book 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' was being held. Newt was accompanied by his older brother Theseus Scamander and his assistant, Bunty. The mysterious Ms. Granger nowhere to be found. _

_Could there be trouble in paradise? We here at Spellbound had been sure the pair were involved romantically but could it in fact be that the dashing Magizoologist is as unlucky in love as his older brother Theseus? _

_Turn the page to learn more about the assumed relationship between the two heroes of the wizarding world and Theseus Scamanders own turbulent past with love. _

* * *

A low groan falls from his lips as Theseus finishes reading the Spellbound article, skimming over _'his own turbulent past with love'_ before tossing the offending publication aside.

He was not looking forward to the conversation that would now have to be had. Though he had known he couldn't keep his most recent relationship a secret from his brother forever he had hoped the secret could remain his own for at least a couple months to come.

_Or years._ He thinks in a sardonic tone.

Theseus stands, grabbing his wand and dark overcoat as he starts for the door. Wordlessly extinguishing the lights in his apartment, making quick work of setting his wards before stepping out onto the dimly lit city street his destination clear in mind as he disapparates with a loud crack.

* * *

25 March, 1927

**Friend of Foe? You be the Judge.**

_A Witch with a past cloaked in secrecy. A Wizard who was not only expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry but has a penchant for causing trouble wherever he goes. Are Granger and Scamander truly the heroes everyone is making them out to be?_

_Grindelwald has escaped, presumably gaining followers with each passing day. The Wizarding world is in a state of upheaval, a feeling of unrest in the air and a critical eye should be directed at any one person making waves within our community for the time being._

_Could Granger and Scamander be in league with Grindelwald? The incident in New York a clever ruse to distract us as we directed our attention towards the mysterious pair and turned away from Grindelwald and his imprisonment, assuming that the MACUSA had it all in hand! Some argue that only time will tell but this reporter refuses to have the wool pulled over her eyes any longer._

_Change is coming, whether we're ready for it or not. Will you stand with me when the time comes or cower within your homes, putting all your hope on these supposed heroes and our clearly incompetent elected officials?_


	11. When Beastly is Too Kind a Word

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them belong to J.K. Rowling. This fiction is purely for my own enjoyment and yours. No money is being made by me or anyone else from this fiction.

Authors Notes: Sorry about the wait! I've actually had this chapter done for over a week but something came up with work that needed my full and undivided attention so it took some time to get to the final read through and touch up! Hope it isn't too awful.

P.S. Still in need of a Beta if that interests anyone. As a perk you get to read each chapter before everyone else. Eh... eh? I mostly just need a second set of eyes.

* * *

The mournful cry of the Augurey sounds through the open door to the basement below. Hermione can't make out what Newt's saying but she recognizes the calm and soothing tone he has as he addresses the bird, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

She's sure he has everything in hand, his assistant Bunty helping for the day, allowing Hermione to catch up on her reading.

_It's not as though much reading is being done, mind you. _She thinks, head filled to the brim with questions, thoughts and memories.

She closes her book with a snap, a piece of yellow ribbon marking her place as she stretches her arms high above her head, soft linen sleeves brushing across her arms and the old scars decorating her skin. Brilliant whiskey coloured eyes taking in the messy state of the living room, before looking to the window, a thoughtful expression clouding her eyes as the first drops of rain begin to ping off the small panes of glass.

Hermione and Newt's relationship had been steadily developing despite all the setbacks and upsets recently. In fact, it had taken on a decidedly more physical quality as of late. The pair just couldn't seem to keep their hands off of one another, whether that be because of their unusual bond or just natural attraction and chemistry was anyone's guess.

_I jumped him in front of a Kelpie for Merlin's sake._ Hermione snorts, rubbing her tired eyes with the palms of her hands. Wisps of memory tugging at her senses.

_With a strangled noise Hermione lunges, bodies meeting in a mess of limbs, fingers tangling in his reddish brown hair as their lips meet in a heated and much overdue kiss._

_Neither giving much thought to their beastly audience as the now harmless Kelpie dives back into the deep, the black water receding with it._

_The force of Hermione's spirited actions sending the pair stumbling back until with a noticeable thud and the sound of shattering glass they make contact with a long worktable._

_"Bugg-" Hermione begins tearing her lips from Newts, eyes settling on the mess they've made of the worktable behind Newts lanky form. She's unable to finish the thought, a squeak of surprise tearing from her lips as Newt hoists her into his surprisingly fit arms, pivoting slightly as he deposits her firmly on the smooth surface of the table, his slim hips fit snug between her thighs._

_They share a look, a gentle smile pulling at Newt's lips as a hint of irritation makes itself known in the corners of Hermione's eyes. He slides a hand along her fabric clad thigh, fingers teasing a blazing trail._

_"It's fine." He promises, voice low as his opposite hand slips beneath her chin, tilting it just right to lay a gentle kiss upon her adorable pout._

_Slowly, they find their rhythm, lips moving in time with one another, embrace tender. Newt's long fingers tangling in Hermione's hair, mirroring her actions mere moments before, their kiss growing deeper, a clash of tongues and teeth as their embrace becomes heated._

_Feeling emboldened by Newts complimentary response and his gentle teasing Hermione makes quick work of the buttons on his white button down, a heavy huff of air falling from her lips as they part momentarily to catch their breath. She marvels at the way the fabric clings to his skin, hands shaking as bit by bit she exposes his lightly freckled chest._

_She admires the light spattering of strawberry blonde hair spread across his chest. Noting each and every scar, some new, others faded by time as she continues her descent, focus unwavering until with a triumphant noise she frees the last and final button._

_Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth she takes in the view. Fingers leaving a fiery trail as she lightly drags her nails up his exposed skin, heartbeat pounding in her ears. She pauses her exploration as she brushes across a set of four long slashes, the scars old and faded._

_The Jarvey. She thinks the thought sounding thick and sluggish in her normally overactive mind._

_With a shake of her head she looks up, meeting Newt's gaze._

_"Beautiful" She whispers, voice thick with arousal and emotion. Her heart soaring as the softly spoken word is met with a brilliant smile and the return of Newt's lips to her own._

_Hermione pushes the soaked button down from his shoulders, tossing it to the side with a wet slap. Wrapping her arms about his neck, squeezing her thighs in an attempt to pull him closer. A low chuckle the reward for her eagerness as Newt pulls at the now damp shirt tucked into her trousers, the pair parting as he tugs the soft fabric up and over her head, an affectionate look filling his eyes as he threads his fingers through her wildly curling hair._

_Brilliant blue eyes take in her upper body, lingering only momentarily as Newt studies her various scars and the pretty cream coloured silk and lace bandeau preserving her modesty._

_"Absolutely bewitching" he says, voice thick, desire clear in his eyes._

_It feels as though electricity chokes the air as their eyes meet in a swirl of blue and brown. Bodies moving as though being pulled by strings. No passion lost despite the gentle pause._

_A low feminine moan fills the room as Newts lips descend upon her neck. Sucking and biting the tender flesh, a burning trail of kisses left in his wake as he traces the elegant line of her neck with his mouth. A single hand teasing it's way along her spine and across her lightly freckled shoulders, nimble fingers pulling the cream coloured silk strap from her shoulder, his mouth following in his fingers wake._

_Hermione whimpers, fingers and thighs digging into Newt's hips as he gently cups her silk clad breast, his hand shaking the slightest bit with nerves. Her head falling back as she presses her body closer to his own, arching into his touch, the combination of his lips and hands sending a feverish flush across her skin. Righteous curls tumbling down her back, eyes closed in ecstasy as-_

A loud tap on the window pulls Hermione from the amorous memory, drawing her attention to the beautiful Barred Owl perched on the windowsill, the rain crashing against its feathered body. Hermione's half tempted to leave it there in the rain for interrupting her day dream but she notes the letter addressed to Newt in it's bright yellow beak. With a sigh she opens the window and allows it entrance.

Standing, she starts towards the open basement door only to stop short as Newt comes barreling in mumbling under his breath, blue eyes shinning and focused on his hands cupped before him.

Quirking a brow she stares Newt down, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips as she takes note of his disheveled state. Noting the way his fringe is pushed back, sticking up every which way. His bow tie loose and forgotten, an attractive blush spread across his freckled cheeks.

_I do so love those button downs._ She muses eyeing the way the muscles in his arms strain against the rolled up fabric of his sleeves. Lost in her perusal of him it takes Hermione a moment to notice he's speaking to her.

"-absolutely fantastic! A complete surprise!" He exclaims, stumbling over his words a bit in his excitement.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Hermione asks, all too aware of the heated blush spreading across her body, eyes meeting Newt's.

"Babies Hermione! Babies!" He tries apparently done away with descriptive verbal explanations in his current state as he closes the distance between he and Hermione with two long strides opening his cupped hands to reveal a sleeping baby Niffler with caramel coloured fur, bisected by a ring of pure white around its neck.

Hermione can't help the high pitched squeal of shocked delight that tears from her lips then, reaching a single ink stained finger forward intending to pet the tiny newborn creature only to be interrupted as an irritated hoot is loosed from the Barred Owl by the window.

"Were you aware of the owl in the room Hermione?" Newt asks, blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he looks at the lightly scowling woman before him.

"I was. Its brought along a letter addressed to you." She relents before turning her attention to the tiny sleeping Niffler, cooing slightly as she reaches a cupped hand towards Newt in offering. He gently deposits the the still snoozing creature in her waiting hand before stepping past her, pausing momentarily as he brings his mouth to her ear.

"There's three others with the mother below." He reveals, warm breath caressing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver straight down her spine. "This one reminded me of you."

Her heart skips a beat as Newt presses a gentle kiss to her temple before swiftly approaching the waiting owl, prying the envelope from it's yellow beak with care before breaking the seal as the Barred Owl flies into the rain filled sky, not waiting for a response to its delivered missive.

A heavy silence fills the room, a deep, troubled look crossing Newt's face as Hermione remains blissfully unaware, entirely wrapped up in the sleeping creature held in her palm.

"Who's it from." Hermione asks, tone light as a small giggle escapes her lips, the tiny Niffler in her palm reaching out in its sleep to grip an ink stained finger. Silence her only reply.

Brows furrowed she turns, questioning gaze landing on Newt's slightly hunched form.

_That's odd._ She thinks taking in his body language. Noting the hunched shoulders and the way his head is tilted down, sending her nervous glances from beneath his fringe.

Hermione was no stranger to this type of behaviour, she had seen it before when Newt talked to many others, or when he was dealing with a particularly aggressive or proud creature. It was a method she herself often applied while working in the field, a method she had learned while reading _her_ edition of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. A proven way of avoiding dominance displays and showing submission when dealing with creatures – or in Newt's case the often beastly Ministry officials that regularly hounded him.

_Perhaps beastly is too kind a word. I've met many a beast more pleasant than them._ She thinks with a snort.

On very rare occasions he had behaved this way towards her.

_Only when we've argued or he was trying to hide something. _She reflects, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Newt." she tries again, voice soft as she slowly approaches his hunched form. A hurt look flashing across her face as he seems to fold further into himself, backing away the slightest bit before catching himself, an apologetic look in his eyes as he finally meets her gaze. Try as he might to mollify her now, the damage is done. Well aware of this he hands her the letter, a slight shake in his hand. Silence blanketing the room as Hermione makes quick work of reading the missive.

_My Dearest Friend,_

_Do you remember the time you were given detention for informing Pendergast 'there are no strange creatures only blinkered people', how long did you get for saying that to the old coot? On occasion I like to think of moments like those. The moments when my life at Hogwarts didn't seem quite so terrible. _

_I'm not afraid to admit that most of those moments revolved around you._

_It should come as no surprise that i've been following your career. You've made quite the name for yourself in the wizarding world much to your brothers chagrin and it has recently come to my attention that you've released the first edition of your book at long last._

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, a fitting name indeed. I would love to discuss your book and most recent exploits in person. For that reason I am writing to formally extend an invitation for dinner and perhaps drinks to you and the charming Miss Granger at your earliest convenience._

_I eagerly await your Reply._

_Your Friend,_

_Leta Lestrange _

Hermiones eyes linger on the signature decorating the bottom of the page. Fire filled eyes tracing each loop of the beautiful flowing script spelling _that_ name.

_Lestrange._ Hermione was seeing red – or was it perhaps green? Jealousy or rage? She was having trouble sorting out her thoughts and opinions, body shaking in response to the overflowing emotions.

Hermione knew she was biased. Enraged and haunted by their future and her past. Her perception _tainted_ by all that she had experienced and seen during one of the darkest points of the wizarding worlds history. She just couldn't seem to think straight when it came to Lestrange. She knew it was wrong to pass judgement on a woman she had yet to meet, to lump her in with a monster that had yet to be born, but here she was. Judging another based on a preconceived notion, becoming the very type of person she loathed growing up.

Was she acting any better then those who judged her for her blood status? If she were capable of thinking rationally the answer would be clear.

_'She was a taker, you need a giver.'_ Queenie's words are a whisper in her mind as they play on a rotating loop with the cackling laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange, all manner of rational thought drifting away and into the pouring rain, the Augureys cries becoming the soundtrack to her downward emotional spiral.

_Leta Lestrange._ She repeats the name again and again rolling it about in her head as though it's a puzzle to be solved. Pondering and questioning, operating under the belief that if she could only understand the name she'd be able to get a handle on the tidal wave of emotions repeatedly crashing into her, stealing the very breath from her lungs.

Anxiety holds her in a crushing vice like grip, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. The image of the young Slytherin with the slightest of smiles watching as the Jarvey attacked those boys jumping to the front of her mind. A feeling of dread filling her as the face begins to morph and merge, creating a ghastly combination of young Leta and Bellatrix in her mind.

One a Lestrange by marriage, the other by birth. One a monster, the other an unknown variable who shared or still shares some manner of relationship with Newt.

_Newt._ She takes a gasping breath of air in an attempt to calm herself, slowly forcing her hand to relax around the now ruined parchment before allowing it to fall to the floor. The sound of the heavy rain filtering through her senses as she begins to come back to herself bit by bit, eyes meeting Newts where they're hidden beneath his fringe, a fresh wave of anger and hurt crashing into her as she takes in his still hunched form. The submissive body language pulling a scathing remark to the surface, forcing her to physically bite her tongue in an attempt to avoid lashing out.

_Why hasn't he explained it?_ True he didn't owe her an explanation, Hermione hadn't explained every single facet of her old life, especially the bits pertaining to her last relationship. Yet it had to be clear as day that the name Lestrange was a trigger for her. The uncertainty of his relationship with the Lestrange of this time and the mysterious air surrounding it driving a wedge between the young time travelling woman and the man seemingly chosen for her by fate.

She needed to know, no longer could she go on living with Newt, growing closer to the man in question without learning the truth. Hermione's own inability to separate Leta from Bellatrix in her mind was a problem, _her problem_, a problem she knew would need to be addressed and soon – yet at this very moment that wasn't her primary concern about the letter. The more pressing concern, urged along by the rarely seen green eyed beast within her mind was the question of Leta and Newt's relationship.

_Who was Leta Lestrange to Newt Scamander? _Though in the letter she addressed him as her dearest friend, in New York Queenie had made it seem as though the two were something more. More to the point Hermione knew first hand how a _dearest friend _could become something more.

"Dearest friend-" She virtually hisses, the two words spilling from her mouth unbidden.

She was half tempted to roll her eyes at her current train of thought. Knowing on some level she was being irrational, making a mountain out of a molehill as they say.

"I-Yes." Newt shifts from foot to foot, his discomfort with the current topic and situation very clear.

Hermione furrows her brow in thought, opening and closing her mouth as she attempts to formulate the words to get her thoughts and worries across, distraction coming in the form of the small newborn Niffler shifting in her palm. With a soft sigh she steps forward, depositing the sleeping creature in a small dish, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at her lips as the tiny creature curls into itself.

" I- I have to go." Newt suddenly says as he glances at the muggle clock hung on one of the walls. "I've another hearing about the international travelling ban. I-I'm sorry." He explains in a rush, eyes once more downcast as the words permeate the room.

His response comes in the form of a strangled scream and a non-verbal stinging jinx hitting the exposed skin of his right forearm, a surprised and pain filled hiss falling from his lips as a red brand like scorch mark paints his skin, arm swelling the slightest bit. Surprised by the action he looks up, gaze questioning and hurt as he meets Hermiones eyes.

He flinches. The look in her eyes is so raw, emotions clearly painted across her face. Guilt and frustration he easily recognizes, noting the moisture gathering in the corners of her expressive whiskey coloured eyes and the way her bottom lip shakes as she summons her overcoat and bag.

Newt makes a move to stop her a moment too late, his suggestion to discuss this later and words of forgiveness and comfort dying on his lips as she turns on the spot and disapparates with a crack like a whip, the wards shuddering and whining in response.

* * *

_How had it all gone so wrong? _Newt thinks, a bland look in his eyes as he stares off into space. Uncaring as the people around him go about their day, shuffling past him, some openly starring as he waits in the dingy waiting area at the Ministry of Magic

A tug on his wrist draws his attention to the present, distracted gaze falling on Pickett who swings from a loose thread in his cuff.

The little creature looks almost worried as their eyes meet moments before the thread snaps, Pickett and the button on Newt's overcoat falling the short distance to the floor. Newt and Pickett watching as the small button rolls away down the corridor.

A moment passes in which a look is shared, a bit of life returning to Newts eyes as the pair take off after it. Newt's a step too quick, his long strides allowing him to catch the button before the small Bowtruckle. He bends to retrieve it and finds himself confronted by a pair of female feet.

"I think they're ready for you, Mr. Scamander." The voice intones, a touch of veiled amusement present in her faint but recognizable Welsh lilt.

Newt stands, a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes spreading across his face as he gives the witch his thanks before stuffing the concealed Pickett and button into the breast pocket of his coat. Patting it twice in an attempt to keep the small creature concealed. The pair silently make their way to the large imposing doors of the hearing room.

Newt curls into himself a bit as he enters the room, eyes alert yet hidden as he takes in the room and its occupants.

Sat around the table are Torquil Travers the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. On either side of the department head are Arnold Guzman the US Emissary to the International Confederation of Wizards and Rudolph Spielman, a German Wizard and the current acting Head of Incarceration at the International Confederation of Wizards. On Newt's side of the table sits Dominic Shafiq, the Head Auror and longtime friend of his older brother.

_Theseus?_ Newt furrows his brow, now openly looking about the room in thought.

His brother was nowhere to be seen. Each and every other hearing up until this point had included his older brother. His absence even more pronounced as Newt's questioning gaze lands on the two empty chairs. He shares a look with Shafiq as he takes his seat, an irritable little shrug from the Auror his only response.

"Hearing commences." Travers begins, voice cold and distant. "You want to end the ban on your travelling internationally. Why?"

A quill begins to write as Travers opens a file in front of him, which contains information on Newt and his most current exploits in New York.

"Because I like to travel internationally." Newt replies, the exact response he's given each and every time to that well rehearsed line.

"Subject uncooperative and evasive on reasons for last international trip." Spielman reads from his own file, unnoticed as across from him Shafiq rolls his eyes and Guzman releases a soft sigh.

All those present but Spielman and Travers appear to be entirely done with this never ending charade.

"It was a field trip. I was collecting material for my book on magical beasts-" Newt replies though there was no question in Spielman's statement.

"A field trip?!" Spielman all but shrieks, his accent bleeding through.

"During which you all but destroyed half of New York." Shafiq intones, voice low, a hint of amusement making itself known in the corners of his deep brown eyes.

"Well, that's actually factually incorrect on two counts-" Shafiq snorts at Newt's response cutting it short.

"Mr. Scamander, it's clear you're frustrated and, frankly, so are we. In the spirit of compromise, we'd like to make a proposition." Newt quirks a brow at Dominic Shafiq in response to Guzmans statement. The man in question looks to the side, all manner of joking pushed aside.

"What kind of proposition?" Newt asks, tone guarded.

"The committee will agree to lift your travel ban under one condition." Newt waits as Spielman leans forward before continuing. "You join the Ministry. Specifically, Head Auror Shafiq and your brother's department."

Newt leans back in his chair, an amused snort his reply as he looks about the room as though asking it's occupants whether or not they've lost their collective minds.

_Perhaps Hermione has rubbed off on me a bit more than I originally thought._ He thinks, noting the look of surprise on Dominics face, attempting to ignore the pang of guilt and sadness that hits him at the thought of Hermione.

"Now that you've mentioned it, where exactly is that brother of mine?" Newt questions, tilting his chin down, fringe falling forward to mask his piercing look.

"Excellent question, Mr. Scamander. I was just wondering that myself." Travers begins, a sharp, shark like grin stretching across his face as his beady little eyes settle on Dominc Shafiq

"On assignment." Is the Head Aurors short reply, tone leaving no room for argument though Newt easily spots the lie in the way Shafiq runs a hand over his close cropped hair and bounces his leg.

Newt opens his mouth to question him further when he's cut off by Guzman.

"Mr. Scamander. You have to understand, the wizarding and non-wizarding worlds have been at peace for over a century. Grindelwald wants to see that peace destroyed, and for certain members of our community his message is very seductive. Many purebloods believe it is their birthright to rule not only our world but the non-magic world as well. They see Grindelwald as their hero, and Grindelwald sees this boy as a means to make this all come true."

Hearing this, Newt frowns, watching as an image of Credence's face emerges in the surface of the table. Guilt and anxiety rushing through him at the sight.

"I'm sorry. You're talking about Credence as if he were still here." Newt begins, a breathless edge in his tone.

"He survived, Newt." Dominic begins, voice soft as their eyes meet. "He's still alive. He left New York months ago. He's somewhere in Europe. In fact, spotted here not long ago. His current whereabouts are unknown, but-"

"And you want me to hunt Credence down? To kill him?" Newt very nearly shouts, pivoting on his heel as he stands, fully intending to leave this room and ridiculous meeting behind him when deep, nasty laughter filters through the room.

"Same old Scamander." Intones a familiar and very unwelcome voice from the shadows.


End file.
